Deterioration of Reason
by Aimless Traveler
Summary: Sam's addiction to demon blood has led him down the darkest path, in which he is willing to do anything for another hit- even breaking an angel. Sequel to "Six Dawns, Six Hours". AU.
1. Ensnared

_A/N: __**Important news**__!! Here's the sequel to "Six Dawns, Six Hours" and it picks up directly in the middle of episode 4.16 "On the Head of a Pin". I'm not sure that this is a story that can stand alone, so I would recommend going to read the one that came before it. This is definitely an AU, and I've removed Anna completely from the plotline. _

_This is going to be a multi-chapter fic, as requested by a friend. Mel, I hope this is the one you've been waiting for! _

_Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its affiliates belong to Eric Kripke._

The hospital reeked of ammonia, disinfectant, and death.

Sam's nose wrinkled at the odors that permeated throughout the building, overwhelming and nearly suffocating in their intensity. His fingers twitched, itching to do something and his foot tapped. Dark brown eyes shifted continuously from the steadily beating heart monitor, to the clock that hung upon the wall and its god-awful ticking, to the badly bruised figure lying in the bed, face paler than the whitewashed walls.

_Bleep. Bleep. Bleep._

With a deep sigh, he hung his head and raked his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit he'd developed during adolescence that he never managed to shake. He couldn't believe this was happening again. Though they'd always administered first aid themselves with rolls of gauze, threaded needles, and bottles of scotch or whiskey, this wasn't the first time Sam had been sitting at his brother's bedside, watching with miserable helplessness as the multiple tubes and wires going in and out of Dean's body helped keep the elder Winchester alive.

This time though, it hadn't been a demon's fault. No, just like Sam couldn't have possibly blamed his father for being possessed and carving up Dean from the inside like a Thanksgiving turkey, there was only one blamable party in this current situation and it wasn't Alastair. Back then it'd been that bastard Azazel, the son of a bitch responsible for the death of his mother, Jessica, and ultimately, his father as well. Even though he'd encountered evil practically everyday and in every shape and form, sitting there listening to the infernal ticking of the clock and the hiss of oxygen, Sam was certain that he'd never hated anyone more at that moment than the angels of the Lord themselves.

"_Get in there and heal him. Miracle. NOW."_

"…_I can't."_

_Bullshit._ Sam resisted the urge to throw his fist into the wall and tucked his clenched fist securely under his chin, staring hard at the far wall. How could he have been so _stupid_? He should've known it from the very beginning, from the day the two dicks showed up and announced they were going to destroy a town populated with more than a thousand innocent people just for the sake of one measly witch and their precious seals.

Dean had been too trusting, too willing to put his faith in that one self-proclaimed warrior of Heaven with steely silver-tinted sapphire eyes that, to Sam, spoke nothing but lies. As far as he was concerned, Castiel was the one responsible for the state his brother was in right now, and even had the audacity to refuse amending the situation.

"_I __**don't**__ know what happened, that trap… it shouldn't have broken, I am sorry." _

_Yeah? Well a lot of good your apology does now, and a lot of good you ever did for my brother, you son of a bitch._ He rose to his feet and began to walk the length of the small hospital room, shoes making small squeaking sounds on the linoleum floor. The angel had seemed so frustrated, so adamant, even regretful that even he'd almost been fooled with he act- until he remembered Anna's words, until he remembered that celestial beings were incapable of feeling.

Ten paces to the right, pivot sharply, ten paces to the left. Pivot. Repeat. His mind spun in circles even as he paced. _But can you trust what Anna's words to be truth? She betrayed Castiel, practically handed him directly over to the demons to break a seal. To make me Lucifer's vessel. But then again…_ his jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed as he glared hard at nothing in particular. _That's exactly what Castiel did to Dean, letting Alastair go after him because they couldn't manage a damn devil's trap._

Neither of them had ever wanted this job, this burden of being saddled down with trying to prevent the apocalypse and quite frankly, Sam had had enough of it- of being pushed around by orders from above, being used merely to get jobs done. Dean was tired of it all, and that was probably half the reason he was lying there in bed, looking like a broken toy that some nasty kid had torn apart and then tried fixing with band-aids and words like _I am sorry._ No, Sam wasn't tired; he wasn't merely angry anymore. Now, he was downright _livid._

Why was it their responsibility to save the angels when they never got anything in return for their efforts but condemnation and pain?

"_Sam Winchester…the boy with the demon blood."_

_Well guess what, it was this boy with the demon blood that saved your ass- again. It's this demon blood that was strong enough to kill Alastair, to save your precious seal. _Castiel's disbelieving look when he'd finally put an end to the white-eyed demon was filled with disbelief, horror, and judgment so clearly evident that Sam had to consciously tell himself to not slam the angel back up against the column he's just slid down, to not hang him up on the nail as Alastair had done and just leave him there.

Suddenly and bile rose up in the back of his throat and Sam lurched forward, stumbling out of the room and down along the hall, fighting to stay upright as his feet somehow found their way to the men's room and he fumbled his way into a stall, bent over the porcelain bowl, dry-heaving as his insides felt like a hellhound was trying to claw his intestines apart. _Goddamn it._

Breathing heavily, he leaned over the edge of the taupe-colored counter, watching the crystal liquid run down the drain. _I have to get stronger. _Sam shoved his shaking hands underneath the flow of water and splashed the cool wetness onto his face, lifting his head to stare at his reflection.

There was no other way. He had to get stronger because killing Alastair wasn't enough; twisting the demon's essence in his host's body hadn't given him nearly as much satisfaction as he'd imagined. He wanted- no, he _needed_ more.

God above, he could still see it. Ruby's voice, her arm, the way she dragged the silver blade across the tan of skin to reveal the thick crimson flowing underneath that welled up through the cut to the surface, beads of the sanguine fluid sliding down the inside of her arm, dark red and inviting-

"_It's okay, Sammy. You can have it."_

That girl was more of an angel than any other being he'd ever met. The way she kept him sustained, offering up what was her own unto him unselfishly, stroking his hair and murmuring words of consolation into his ear as he drank deeply, quenching the thirst that emanated from within and could not be satisfied by any other means.

"Sam."

He spun around. There she was, standing there, leaning against the tiled wall as if it was the most natural thing in the world, to be there staring him down in the men's restroom with that inviting little smile curving her lips. "Ruby."

"How's Dean?"

"Still unconscious." She was sauntering forward now and his eyes were fixed firmly on her arm, where there still remained the faint white line of a scar that was evidence of the last time he drank. It had but been a day ago but there was a hunger, an uncontrollable urge swelling up within him and it took all he had not to grab her right then and then. But she was coming so close now that he could almost _smell_ it and the scent was driving him absolutely insane.

"I know what you want, Sammy," she purred softly, throwing one arm around his neck and bringing their faces close toward each other. He breathed hard, staring into the demon's black eyes and her grin was anything but sweet. She knew.

Ruby brought her hand up slowly in front of Sam's face and watched his eyes follow her movements, fixing upon her wrist so intensely it was almost as if he could see the blood flowing through the veins beneath her skin. "Go ahead. You can have it."

He hesitated. But only for an instant.

Grabbing Ruby's slighter frame, Sam seized a hold of the wrist offered to him and latched upon the source of blood with primal savagery, teeth ripping through the papery-thin skin and letting the coppery fluid fill his entire mouth, staining his teeth and sliding down his throat. _It's to be stronger…I have to get stronger…_

His entire body shook with the intensity of the power he could feel filling him but still he continued to drink, deeper than ever before and absently mindedly he wondered if it was at all possible to drink until the well ran dry.

* * *

The steel pipe caught him directly across the face and Castiel jerked backwards, his surroundings going blinding white as stars exploded across his vision and he felt himself falling to his knees, pitching forward as his motor coordination failed and only managing to brace himself with his hands before what would have proved to be a rather ungraceful meeting with the dirty ground.

His eyes, fixed upon the floor, saw his opponent moving closer. "You can't win, Uriel," the angel barely managed to say. A hand fell down upon his shoulder and pulled him upright on his knees, Castiel's head lolled back and he tried to focus on the fuzzy image of his brother standing above him. Blood in his mouth made his speech thick as he gasped the words out. "I still serve God."

Uriel's harsh reply was one of scorn. "You haven't even _met_ the man!"

Castiel blinked blearily, unable to believe that this was his friend, his brother that had fought beside him for eons, now having succumbed to disobedience and rebellion against the Father. _Since when does faith require omniscience? _

"There-is-no-will!"

His head throbbed and his face was driven to the side as his cheekbone smarted painfully but Uriel's grip hauled him back to face him -

"No. Wrath!"

The other angel was putting all his strength into the blows and even on his knees, Castiel was on the verge of collapsing. In such a position he was at truly his brother's mercy, but there was none to be found in the clenched hands that pummeled his face. He was sagging forward again, Uriel's hand on his shoulder tightened and the angel was lowering himself as well, dark eyes so filled with hatred and lust for power drilling into Castiel's exhausted gaze, stooping to one knee to hiss out his last proclamation, full of unholy conviction.

"_No. God_!"

Uriel's fist swung upward in one swift, decisive, motion as if to drive the words deep into Castiel's consciousness but it was fire that exploded in Castiel's stomach, invisible tongues licking up into his chest and sending coppery liquid flooding into his throat which spurted out of his mouth and snaked down his chin. _Brother… what have you done to me?_ He gazed downward in utter disbelief at the silver sword that had been driven into his abdomen and up through his chest. Limbs unable to move and body too heavy to support, Castiel pitched limply forward into the other angel arms, the handle of Lucifer's sword flashing from where it stuck out of his torso; the air rattled in his lungs as he tried to breathe. _Father, spare me from this act of treason; deliver your servant's soul…_

"He doesn't hear you." One of Uriel's arms was thrown around his brother in a parody of an embrace, supporting Castiel's weakening frame while out of sight, his other hand twisted the sword viciously and Castiel back arched; he raised horrified eyes. "This is your last chance, Cas." He knew that using the moniker that the mudmonkey had come up with would be the easiest way to get to the feelings inside Castiel, making it easier to sway his judgment. "I'm here on my _knees_ brother; please don't fight me anymore." Uriel's tone was entreating, imploring, promising relief if only the answer would be yes. "Join me."

Castiel's vocal chords were paralyzed, but he could still communicate more than what could fill a thousand textbooks upon the subject of loyalty, faithfulness, and duty with what simple action he carried out next- a shake of the head.

_No, Uriel. I will never join you. I will not fall prey to that which has tempted and succeeded in drawing you away from the Father. Never will I aid in the raising of Lucifer. That is my answer, and this is how it will forever be- no._

With a sigh, Uriel twisted his wrist and wrenched Lucifer's sword out from between Castiel's ribs, shoving him backwards onto the filthy ground in a rapidly growing pool of crimson. "Foolish brother. You bring this upon your own head." The angel languidly rose to his feet and spoke into the shadows. "He's all yours."

A pair of Berluti Rapiécés Reprisés emerged from the darkness; the most expensive men's shoes in the world were completed with a Yves Saint Laurent grey striped suit with Jacquard stitching, the combination of which easily priced for far more than what many could ever hope to earn in a lifetime. The face that went with the suit was a handsome one indeed, with a high brow and aristocratic nose emphasized by the head of slicked back chestnut wavy hair styled carefully in its Ivy League cut. "I expected to receive some type of bonus for moving up in the Pit's hierarchy, but I never imagined that such a wonderful promotional gift would be hand-delivered to me by an angel," Belial smirked, eyes rolling back to expose nothing but white. "I knew there was something I liked about you, old sport."

Uriel watched as the demon took to one knee, withdrawing a white silk handkerchief from the inner pocket of his suit jacket, offering one stern warning. "You are not to kill him."

"Conversion, hm?" Belial folded the handkerchief and carefully wiped away the lines of blood streaking down Castiel's face. "His will is going to be difficult to break; he's already proved that before." The demon lifted one carefully manicured finger and traced it along the angel's jawline, slowly.

"He is a valuable asset. I want him alive."

"Oh, but I want the angel too…" Belial murmured with a lecherous grin and Uriel's expression registered disgust, but a forced calm. "He is strong, this one." The demon straightened, nudging one foot against Castiel's head. He sent the other a knowing smirk. "Dear little Cas would have undoubtedly trounced you soundly just then had he not been so sweetly compassionate-"

"Are you capable of completing the job?" Uriel cut him off swiftly. Was it out of guilt? He extended Lucifer's sword, willingly handing over the one known weapon that could defeat the warriors of Heaven.

A look of pure delight crossed over Belial's features and he took the sword Uriel extended out to him, observing the bloody blade, visibly impressed. "I'm sure I can find a way to…convince him," he said appreciatively. "A pleasure doing business with you, brother."

No response.

The warehouse was now empty, the so-called specialist having disappeared and Belial slid the handkerchief over the sword, examining his reflection in the now-cleaned burnished metal that was not from the created Earth. "I most certainly am going to enjoy having my way with you this time…" he said softly, gazing down at the beautiful spectacle of the angel, lying in a pool of his own blood and ripe for the taking.

With surprising strength, Ruby pulled away and turned the tables abruptly, pushing Sam until his back was flush against the wall, covering his mouth with hers hungrily and Sam found himself drowning in the flow of the blood that pumped strong through his veins, adrenaline rushed and neurons fired five times faster than usual, dizzying in its force.

* * *

They pulled apart to gasp for air and Ruby smirked, beckoning to him. "Come with me, Sammy."

Without a word, he did. Out of the dim-colored men's room and down the stark white hallways, past the wards where the patients lay in unconsciousness, breathing through tubes and hooked up to machines, depending on the electrical apparatuses for survival, past where Dean Winchester lay and he didn't turn his head to glance at his brother. As of right now, there was nothing on his mind, nothing at all except Ruby walking in front of him, and the sanguine fluid she bore within her body, that which he, more than anything, _craved._

The hospital reeked of ammonia, disinfectant, and death, but the smell of blood was even more potent. Sam knew then, he _knew_ that he'd do anything for another chance to feel the warmth of life sliding past his lips and down his throat and for the one who gave it to him.

_Ruby._

He'd do anything for her.

_A/N: Poor Castiel! But really, that scene with Uriel was too good to pass up without putting my own little spin on it. Reviews (and feedback) would be much appreciated; tell me what you'd like to see happen! _


	2. Entrapped

_A/N: Sorry for the late update, life is trying to kill me right now. Thank you for the reviews; enjoy the chapter and I'll update as soon as I can!_

_Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its affiliates belong to Eric Kripke._

The hospital wasn't extremely large, but it still housed a fair amount of patients. Each person who checked in or out was given the utmost care even if there was a lack of medical insurance, perhaps because the Dean of Medicine knew what it was like to have nothing. She had been there before, and was now aiming to change that for the injured and sick who came into her hospital.

Standard procedures applied here just like at any other medical center; visitors had to check-in and out with valid ID, there were certain hours set aside for such specifics. The separate wards weren't exactly like rooms in the Buckingham palace, but they were spacious enough to be comfortable. Each patient was attended to by at least four staff members, with critical individuals on around the clock care and all other convalescents were checked in on every three hours.

_Bleep. Bleep. Bleep._

The man in room 258 was still unconscious as Marie entered to make sure all was well. Earlier that morning, he had been deemed stable enough to breathe on his own and the oxygen tank had been taken away, but he still looked worse for the wear. With a sigh, the nurse marked something on the chart simply labeled John Doe, which had been crossed out, and replaced with another name.

Dean.

His brother had brought him in; a tall, young man with a face made haggard by stress and urgency, putting on a brave front. But it was his eyes that held so much worry and something else hidden deep down inside that betrayed all this as the patient had been loaded up onto a gurney and brought into the ER for automatic evaluation. There'd been multiple contusions, lacerations, as well as multiple broken bones. It had been one of the orderlies had remarked how lucky he must've been to have come away from a hit-and-run with such injuries to be lying here in bed instead of on ice down in the morgue.

The brother had given his name as Sam and hovered around as all family members and friends tended to do, pacing back and forth until Marie had been sure that he was going to wear a tread into the shiny linoleum floor. Having the ability to comfort people was basically a part of her job description and Marie tried to do her best, telling him that his brother was going to be alright, that Dean was going to be fine with a couple of days of bed rest and perhaps the worst thing he had going for him was three broken ribs, or perhaps the nasty aftereffects of near asphyxia.

Then, she had made the mistake of suggesting that Dean had someone watching out for him. She herself was Catholic and attended Mass regularly, and Marie was a candid individual who had no qualms about sharing her faith. She wore the pendant of St. Martin de Porres around her neck and did believe that she and everyone else in the world had at least some sort of guardian. But when she said those fateful words… no, actually, now that she thought back upon what had transpired, it had only been one word- angel.

She had no idea that those kind brown eyes could have turned so dark and foreboding as they had.

It was almost spooky in a sense, eerie and it definitely set her on edge. Though Marie knew that none of the vindictive fire in his eyes had been directed toward her, it was frightening nonetheless, to know that anyone was capable of such hatred and she had to admit that she breathed easier when he'd left.

She had seen them. The multiple scars that spanned everywhere over the tanned skin, the burns and what seemed to have been second-rate medical treatment, at best. The surgeons had chosen not to comment; the staff members were always told to respect the patient's privacy because delving into these matters clearly was none of their business and Marie followed protocol and adhered to all procedures. She liked her job and wasn't about to lose it over some misguided notions she had or the strange tightening in her gut. But still…

Marie glanced back down at the badly bruised man lying in the hospital bed and she had to wonder, wonder what he'd been through because even she knew that the little story about a hit-and-run was a lie. There was no way those distinctively finger-shaped bruises around his neck could have been as a result of a collision with any car.

What about this patient was valuable enough to be kept secret even at the cost of his own life? What was the cause for his brother's evident distaste at the thought of one of the emissaries of the Lord being there to guide and protect?

The man turned his head sharply against the pillow then, a deep frown carving lines in his brow; his entire body went tense. Marie knew the warning signs even before the heart monitor started to go berserk.

"He's crashing!"

* * *

Dean Winchester was the type who liked having his feet firmly planted on the ground. After all, with the knowledge he bore about all the things that went bump in the night being real, he recoiled at the prospect of walking on cloud nine or taking a trip to the land of make believe. The Trickster had driven all that out of him sure enough.

Certainly then, it was understandable why he wasn't exactly too thrilled at floating in a sea of darkness and delirium. Because it was there in the darkness that the nightmares came back, along with all the memories. Unbidden and unwanted they flooded his mind anyway, taunting and tormenting him as he lay there, helpless to stop any of it.

_Sam? _

He was in a hospital, he knew that much. The clean sheets and mattress he lay upon was certainly a welcome deviation from scratchy motel blankets and bed linen that smelled suspiciously like they hadn't been washed in God knew how long. He could hear the steady beeping of a heart monitor and could quite consciously feel the tube that had been shoved into his arm. If he strained his ears, he could even hear the steady dripping of an IV.

Why wasn't his brother answering? Where was he? _Sammy?_ Shit, did Alastair get him too? His breath grew quick and labored in terror at the mere thought of that bastard getting his hands on his little brother and his mind whirled wildly… _God, where the hell are you when you're needed? Just exactly whose side are you on anyway?_

"_Oh, almost. Looks like God is on my side today…"_

_The grip around his throat had disappeared and as he lay there with his cheek pressed against the filthy floor, Dean gasped for breath. He heard Alastair's oily voice cutting through the haze of unconsciousness that was beginning to overtake everything. Every inch of him was on fire and he almost choked out a bitter laugh at the irony of it all. Strange, how no matter whether he took on the role of the tortured or the torturer, it always ended up hurting like hell. _

_Several blurred shapes and shadowy figures seemed to swoop over him and the hunter tried to shift his head ever so slightly; out of the mess of colors and perpetually moving forms, he squinted and made out the khaki trench coat, the dark blue tie and the piercing sapphire eyes that were filled with so much rage that Dean wondered if he was hallucinating because he'd never seen such emotion-_

_Castiel. The angel was fighting… for him._

_Then came the turn. With a ferocious growl Alastair charged the angel, bringing Castiel back into one of the concrete pillars and sudden Dean's ears caught the stomach-turning and cringe-inducing sound of something tearing through cloth and flesh. Castiel's feet were about a foot off the ground and something akin to anger made the hunter's face flame because even from this far away he could see the alarm in the angel's features at being captured by Alastair again. Especially after all he had already been through at the demon's hands._

"_Like roaches, you celestials…you know, I really wish I knew how to kill you…"_

_With the first words of the demonic chant, pain erupted in Dean's arm and he would have cried out at the shear agony of the ragged nerves screeching to high heaven had he the ability to do so. It felt like something was scorching his flesh away and striking down deep to the bone, the howl arose from deep inside his chest and erupted from his throat-_

"_CAS!!!_"

"I need some help in here!" Marie called frantically, trying to calm the patient as he thrashed wildly about in bed but there wasn't much her five-foot slender frame could do. The man's features were contorted, head thrown back and the yell of pain coming from his throat combined with his jerky movements made it all seem like a scene out of a remake of the Exorcist. The heart monitor beeped erratically, almost off the charts and the nurse struggled to keep the patient from hurting himself even further.

"He's going to rip his IV out-"

"Someone get the crash cart in here, the way his heart is going, he might flatline any minute!"

"-clearly in pain, push two milligrams of morphine, stat!"

Suddenly, in a burst of inhuman strength, Dean wrenched free from the many hands trying to hold him down and he clenched his left bicep in a grip hard enough to bruise, breathing hard as his green eyes stared wildly, blindly around at his surroundings in a panic. "Cas!" he sputtered, trying to gulp down fresh oxygen and almost choking.

Marie stared, limbs suddenly frozen as she was caught in the petrified stare. Dean focused on her- or tried to anyway- with dilated pupils and panic swirling in those emerald depths and pitched forward, lurching at her and the nurse fell backward, frightened but not before the patient succeeded in grasping a hold of her shoulders. His clammy hands wet her scrub suit with sweat. "Dean?" she whispered.

Sam wasn't here. Dean swiveled his head this way and that, his heart still thumping wildly against his ribs, pain still exploding in his left bicep and suddenly latex-covered hands were pushing him back against the softness of the pillows and he arched his back, trying to fight. No, no, no, he had to find Sam, he was alone again and there was no one to save him this time…

"_Castiel!_" The nurses and orderlies exchanged glances of confusion at the desperate shout and Dean wanted to reach out and knock some sense into their thick skulls, couldn't the idiots just get his brother, goddamn it?

There was a sharp prick in his side as a needle pierced through the skin and Dean consciously felt the rush of the cool liquid entering his bloodstream. His limbs turned to water and his muscles went slack; he slumped weakly and as he was once again swirled into the throes of darkness, he realized something.

He'd been thinking of Sam. His brother. But the name that slipped past his lips was Cas's name.

He'd been asking for the angel.

* * *

Colors were more vibrant than ever before, the world swirled in front of him and Sam felt something stirring in his veins. The blood thrummed through, strong and driving with power he still couldn't quite comprehend. Even though he knew that it was Ruby's blood that was causing this profound change in him, he didn't have the ability to wrap his mind around the logistics of the situation, or where the extraordinary feeling of vigor coming from deep within came from. All at he knew was… he felt alive.

_It's a secret… sinister, dark, unknown… _He cast a glance over at the gorgeous vixen in the driver's seat and she smirked over at him when she caught him staring. _And it's all mine._ His gaze riveted to the inside of Ruby's arm, at the slightly jagged edges of the torn skin and he let his head fall back against the headrest, breathing deeply, nearly growling at the thought of drinking again.

A new world was coming alive in front of his eyes.

There was no battle he couldn't survive, no obstacle he couldn't surpass, nothing that could stand in his way of anything. He would live forever, forever powerful enough to conquer all the world and kill all the evil that resided within the deepest depths of depravity. Demons wouldn't only stay of his way and keep their dirty hands off his brother; they would beg for mercy- mercy that he would never give.

"Hey." Ruby killed the engine and reached out to lay a hand on the young hunter's shoulder. His head snapped to the side and she saw the thirst in the way he looked at her, saw the potential for everything that Sam Winchester could and she shivered in delight and anticipation at the raw power reflected there. _That's it Sammy, look at me. Want me._

Without a word, she stepped out of the car and sauntered out into the darkness, slipping the car keys into her pocket and tightening Sam's leash at the same time. Just as she predicted, he scrambled out of the Impala faster than greased lightening without here even having to say so and followed her blindly, footsteps heavy and pounding against the perfectly mowed green turf underneath their feet.

"Ruby?" Sam barely realized it when he walked through the entranceway, when the doors slammed shut behind him, when his surroundings changed from the cool night air and chirping of crickets to what seemed to be a metal box of a prison with single light bulbs lined up and lighting the way down the long, shadowed hallway. He simply kept following the girl in front of him, following the sound of pumping blood and the smell of it, _the smell_-

"Aha, Sam Winchster, at last." A lilting, accented voice sounded out of the darkness suddenly and Sam drew back defensively, eyes strained in vain against the dim lighting to see who it was that spoke. "I've been waiting for you all night, lad."

Sam lifted his chin defiantly at the degrading label, challengingly. "And who the hell are you?"

A hand lifted and with a snap of the fingers, the entire structure was filled with light, blinding Sam for an instant. When he could see again, he took in the bunker-like surroundings and was surprised to find that it was relatively clean and sterile, resembling one of those underground facilities built to act as the control base for covert operations or to investigate governmental secrets, like aliens or whatever crap they thought constituted as movie material these days.

It was the man that caught his attention though. He was certain that he'd never met the other man, who was well-dressed to the point of absurdity in contrast with the metallic box-like surroundings- but there was something about that Victorian cut suit with perfect tailoring, complete with vest and a smug little self-assured grin that was just so damn familiar; he couldn't quite put his finger on it-

"Don't recognize me, Sam? Well, that's certainly impolite. It's the meat puppet, isn't it? I opted for a change in the scenery." The man took a step closer and Sam inhaled sharply as the other's eyes rolled upward. "We have met before, though. We've even fought each other and I must say, you are quite a formidable opponent, old sport."

_Old sport._ Sam's fists clenched; his nostrils flared and he glared. "Belial." _So he escaped. I thought that the other angel dealt with him…_

"You're wondering why I'm not back in the Pit?" Belial adjusted his cuff links as he spoke nonchalantly. "I was sent back, but after you did away with Alastair, I got… well, _promoted_, shall we say." He brushed a speck of imaginary dirt off his shoulder. "That was actually a clever trick you pulled, by the way, killing him."

"Yeah?" Sam planted his feet. "How'd you like to see another trick?" He raised his hand, ready to crush the life out of the demon and Belial chuckled lightly, putting his hands up in a placating manner.

"Now Sammy, be reasonable. I've never done anything to you, or to Dean-"

"Shut up."

"I'm not the enemy here, old sport." Belial said smoothly. "I wasn't even there when those angels delivered your brother into Alastair's hands." He smirked as Sam's jaw worked furiously. "Well, that's what they did, yes? Sent him to torture Hell's Chief Torturer without so much as a thought to watch out for poor Dean's neck and now he's lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines to help him breathe and the worst part is, you can't do a damn thing to help him, can you?"

BANG.

Belial's back hit the metal wall hard with a sharp, outward thrust of his hand and Sam glared hatefully, teeth gritted together so hard he thought they would shatter. "Give me one reason," he said in a deadly, low voice, "one reason why I shouldn't take you apart right here, right now."

"I told you, Sam," the demon responded calmly, despite being pinned against the wall. "I'm not the enemy."

"Then why am I here?!"

"I'd like to take this opportunity to make amends. I thought that since now you've done away with Alastair, we could start over. No hard feelings. A clean slate."

"Go to Hell." His fingers begin to clench inwards-

"Sam." Ruby's arms encircled his torso from behind and he turned his head at the contact. Her breath was hot and heavy against his ear. "You should see what he has for you." Her eyes slid to black and searched his, entreating, persuading. "You want to get stronger, don't you?"

_Stronger. _He relinquished his hold.

"Well then," Belial straightened his vest and dusted himself off. "Shall we proceed?" Another snap of the fingers, and behind Sam, light illuminated a room on the other side of a glass panel for viewing purposes, which had been cleverly disguised as the sidewall. "My gift to you, Sammy."

Sam stared. "Cas?"

* * *

Castiel awoke to the cold, to the pain, and to the light. The only movement he could manage was from the neck up and irrational but deep fear pierced deep, shooting straight to his core. The overhead light beat down upon his form, shining unbearably bright and revealing the inverted pentagram and the downward icthus the angel was chained to and the symbol drawn on the concrete floor surrounding the symbols of the occult, sketched out in the red of blood. Castiel's heart sunk because he recognized the symbol; he recognized the seal of Belial himself, drawn in demon blood. _No, Father… please, I cannot bear this. Not again. _This time, it was he that was bound completely.

His torso throbbed dully and he hung his head, gazing down at the wound in his chest, opened up by Lucifer's sword and dealt by his brother's hand. _Uriel._ Although all angels had the ability to heal their human hosts, the blade of the Son of Perdition had done more damage than any other ordinary weapon and Castiel felt not only the physical side effects, but also what seemed to be a rent in his very soul. Or was that simply the sorrow that stemmed as a result of Uriel's betrayal?

"_This is your last chance, Cas. I'm here on my knees, brother; please don't fight me anymore. Join me."_

The words rung in his ears, a mockery of his own weakness and the angel tried to breathe deeply. It was hard to do so when guilt was threatening to swallow him whole. Who was he to call himself a soldier of the Lord when he didn't have the vision or astuteness to sense the signs of treachery? Who was he to take upon himself the role of watching over Dean Winchester when he couldn't rescue the boy from Alastair, when he was too weak to even rescue himself?

_Is this what you do to me brother, for not joining you? _Castiel shuddered involuntarily because there was a presence nearby and he knew it. He knew it all too well. _You turned me over to Belial, one of the Fallen ones, second only to Lucifer himself, and for what? _

Conversion.

* * *

Sam turned away from the sight of seeing the bound angel, stomach turning rebelliously because all he could see was Castiel strapped down to that gurney through the fall of holy water and Alastair's hand tearing into his chest. He faced Belial, who was watching him with that same smug smirk that made Sam want to reach up and smack it off the demon's face. "What is this?"

"You want payback for what happened to Dean, don't you? Yes," Belial said, almost flippantly. "So I've hand-delivered one of the main perpetrators to you for your enjoyment."

"Enjoyment?" Sam was disgusted. "You sick son of a bitch; I don't do torture. What kind of game are you playing at here, huh?" He stepped closer to the demon, threateningly. "I am this close from ending you for good, now let Cas go and-"

"The angel that betrayed your brother?" Belial scoffed, albeit in a most gentlemanly way. "Let me tell you a little secret, Sammy. Dear old Cas was there when Alastair broke free from the devil's trap. He was there to watch over your brother, so answer me this- why is Dean in a hospital? Why is he urinating into a bag and being fed sugar water through a tube inserted into his wrist?" The demon circled the hunter. "And just how did that devil's trap break in the first place?" came the final question.

Sam's head was bent, his eyes focused on the floor and his fists were clenched. _He's lying,_ his mind intoned dully, but there was something swelling up within him, more than indignation and it was augmenting with deadly force. _Don't pay any attention to the shit that's coming out of his mouth; none of it is true anyway. None of it._

"What, Sam? Are you too scared to harm an angel, even though now you can kill even the most powerful demons?" Belial put his hands behind his back cordially. "Or are you afraid that you might find out the truth that there was never an inkling of honesty behind anything Castiel ever said or did? I know you want this, Sam," he murmured. "It's written in your eyes, I can hear the thirst for vengeance in your veins. I can _smell _it." He leaned in close. "Just like you can smell what's running through her veins." He nodded at Ruby, who offered a catty little smile in return.

He glanced at her and the seductive glance she gave him made something in his blood boil. "How did that devil's trap break?" he said tightly, almost mechanically as he directed his gaze away from Ruby with great effort and toward the angel on the other side of the glass pane. _I need it, I need it, I need it…_

"Why don't you find that out for yourself, old sport?" Belial smiled congenially. "And I _know_ you want it. You want to become stronger, yes?" The look the hunter shot him burned with the heat of a thousand suns. "Go on ahead. When you're done, _then_ I'll let you drink."

_Want it?_ Sam felt a shudder wrack his body and he struggled to compose himself, breathing deeply in through his nose and out through his mouth. _He was there to watch over your brother…_ He blinked. It was all slowly falling into place now and as Ruby tilted her head, drilling him with an intense stare, Sam realized what he'd been trying to figure out all along. Yes, he could become stronger. But only with _her_ by his side.

* * *

He couldn't see the features of the three forms that moved around on the other side of the wall; the light shone directly into his eyes and upon his helpless figure in the middle of the room. Castiel heard the sound of a door swinging open and shut on its hinges though, and lifted his head-

_Sam? _His spirits lifted. Perhaps Uriel's deception had already been discovered and he would be spared torment at Belial's hands.

But then he saw the younger Winchester's eyes, the cold hatefulness in the hard gaze and fear gripped its icy fingers around his lungs and clenched tight. Breathing was impossible and Castiel couldn't believe his eyes. He didn't want to. "Samuel," he whispered in disbelief, remorse, and sadness. _No._

Sam raised a fist, cocked it over his shoulder, and drove it forward with the full force of his entire weight, slamming it into the angel's face.

_A/N: Oh…a cliffhanger. ;) __Please review!_


	3. Enterprise

_A/N: Thank you to all my reviewers! I haven't been able to write and update as frequently as I'd like, but thanks for your continued support! And as a precursor to this chapter let me just say that I have nothing against the British, honest! _

_Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its affiliates belong to Eric Kripke. _

Chopin's Barcarolle in F sharp major and laughter flooded out into the night, the sounds of levity carrying over the rolling hills of the estate. Cars lined every available space in the gravel parkway and valets directed the non-ending line of automobiles that still steadily approached the mansion, their owners all vying for a chance to join in on the fun.

"Careful with this one, she's the newest model on the road- forty-two miles per gallon! Cost me-"

"-a personal invitation, sent by Mr. Todd himself who has certainly-"

"-outdone himself tonight, look at all these lights! Absolutely gorgeous!"

Most people had to work all their lives in order to make a modest living, while others survived living paycheck to paycheck and hoping that the economy didn't suddenly decide to take an abrupt nosedive or that gas prices wouldn't skyrocket. The majority of the population was aging and as the workforce grew smaller and the dependency ratio grew, more and more individuals struggled daily just to make ends meet, just to set food on the table and to pay the mortgage.

However, then there were those could've distributed their wealth like candy on Halloween and still have plenty to spare. Mason Todd was one of these individuals. Despite being only thirty-two years old, the man was a multi-billionaire who could've burned truckloads of his money without batting an eye.

No one could hate him for it, though. Unlike other rich young men, Mr. Todd's wealth wasn't inherited. He'd worked his way up from modest roots to becoming the CEO and exclusive owner of one of the top computer software companies in the country, having graduated early from MIT and even traveling overseas to study in Europe and Japan for a couple of years.

Whatever transpired over there, a Cinderella story was fulfilled when he came back with a fortune- and it was a fortune that he shared at will with others. Never a fortnight passed without some news of some sort of celebrity being invited over for dinner, important clients from overseas coming over to talk business, or any other grandiose occasion that had many a passerby staring enviously up at the mansion of marble that could have easily fit at least two or three two story houses inside.

Mason was not to be marked as a snob though, for far from being consumed and overtaken by his immense wealth, he was the type of rich, successful young man that quickly won over the favors of the neighbors. He was quite the looker with the skill of being able to smoothly maneuver and talk his way out of any situation or until the deal was sealed, until the dotted line was signed. Always courteous to his staff and those that worked under him, he'd gained the reputation of being one of the few honest men of his position and status. A Fitzgerald-esque hero.

All heroes had flaws though, and some of the help that Mr. Todd kept around noticed that lately, the young sir had been acting in a rather peculiar fashion and wondered if it was life catching up to him. He was a structured, organized man who kept his life revolving around a closely planned and religiously followed schedule; deviations from such an agenda were rare and taking a day off from business was unthinkable. So what was the reason behind the well-balanced, respectable businessman who seemed to have become a playboy overnight? Was it some sort of identity crisis, in which he suddenly found the need to invite the entire world over for parties every other night and start talking like a stuck-up, uppity Brit?

Top of the morning to you. Guv'ner. Young lass. _Old sport._

Even more unusual though, was the fact that whenever Mason decided to throw such grand celebrations, the man of the hour himself was nowhere to be seen, having hired entertainment ahead of time for the thousands of people who came to drink his booze and party the night away. Many of the tuxedos and ball gowns or cocktail dresses that swept in and out through the large, French double entry doors never even caught a glimpse of their host's face or shaken his hand. It didn't discourage his guests though.

"What champagne is this? Good God, it's Perrier-Jouet Belle Epoque, year 2000…"

"To us, then! And to Mr. Todd."

"Of course, to the man of the hour! Speaking of which, have you seen him at all this evening?"

"Ah, I saw him mingling about an hour ago, but heaven knows where he's gone off to now…"

The most gracious host was currently descending a flight of concrete steps down from what appeared to be a wine cellar and into darkness, away from the light and frivolity that permeated throughout the mansion. Casting a cursory glance back up that somehow passed as nonchalant, Mason continued to move further underground, passing chambers separated by panels of glass for the purposes of observation and stopping after a while, in front a chamber that seemed no different than the others.

Belial paused for a moment, examining his meat puppet's reflection in the darkened glass. Yes, he'd chosen a fine specimen of a vessel to possess this time around.

Reaching out to the wall, he pressed a combination of numbers on a keypad and the lights on the ceiling of the interior of the glass case turned on, shining down upon the mess of a man that hung limply in the middle of the room. The demon's lips curved upward into a smirk and whistling a cheerful tune, he inserted another code and stepped inside the room through the hidden door.

"Evening, old sport."

* * *

Dean shifted his weight slightly and cursed under his breath when hospital bed creaked slightly. _Damn. _Well, being six foot even and weighing nearly a hundred and eighty pounds didn't exactly make him a master at stealth. Trying to move in such a way as not to jar still-mending bones wasn't the easiest or the quietest job in the world.

He'd been disentangled from the mass of wires and tubes formerly connected to his body perhaps only because nearly all the members of the staff were tired of their disgruntled patient constantly pressing the call button for the nurses or scaring them into thinking he'd flatlined when he pulled the heart monitoring pads away from his chest.

_Easy does it._ Dean glanced at the clock. It was a quarter till ten, and given the next nurse wouldn't be around for a good while, he got ready to make his move. He eased himself onto the floor, leather boots making a muffled thump against the floor.

Of course he'd raised hell until they gave him his clothes back instead of the ridiculous hospital gown that showed _way_ too much even for a confident man such as himself and now since the door was guarded by two nurses sitting at their station, the only viable option was the window. Slowly inching toward freedom, he was one spectacular leap out the window and onto the grassy lawn when-

"And just where do you think you're going, Mr. Smith?"

Caught.

Guiltily, like a child stuck with his hand caught inside the cookie jar, Dean turned at the fake surname and tried to pretend like it actually belonged to him and not the real estate agent he'd stiffed it out of. "Er… trying to get some fresh air?" _Wow, that was lame._

The nurse crossed her arms and glared. "Fresh air, my foot. You, sir, can get your ass back into bed before you strain yourself too hard."

For a moment, the hunter considered ignoring this petite Latina nurse because he was sure he weighed more than twice what she did and he was wiling to bet he could run faster, having the advantage of longer legs. She seemed to know what he was pondering though, for her chocolate eyes narrowed. "Don't even think about it," she warned, pointing at the bed. "_Sit_."

He sat.

Still giving he who had proved to be the hospital's most unruly patient in quite some time a stern look, Marie crossed over to the window and shut it firmly. "After getting caught five times already, did you think that the sixth time was going to be a charm?"

_It was worth a shot._ He sulkily crossed his arms across his chest, careful not to aggravate his aching ribs. "I gotta get out of here; I'm gonna go crazy if I stay in this damn room another day."

"You've been told a dozen times that hospital protocol requires an individual with a valid ID to check in and check out patients."

"My brother had an ID-"

"But Sam isn't here." Marie countered. Whew, this one sure knew how to put up a fight. "Your brother failed to leave a contact number, Mr. Smith and until you can somehow magically come up with identification of your own, you are not permitted to leave the premises."

Dean snorted. _Leave the premises. What is this, a prison? I'm being held captive in a sterile room with a strangely intimidating nurse named Marie as my warden. Things just keep getting better and better these days._

The nurse (warden, his mind insisted) was watching him closely. "You don't know what happened, do you?" she asked warily. Of course the hotheaded man had no clue that he'd gone into a full-blown panic attack, convulsions, and nearly crashed- not once but twice- almost two nights ago. If he knew, he would probably understand the importance of more bed rest. The staff had kept him heavily medicated since then, and ever since he woke up, he'd been itching to leave.

"No. And I don't want to." The hunter looked an inch away from pouting like a spoiled kid and Marie shook her head. This one didn't just know how to put up a fight, he was damn near impossible. She tilted her head to the side quizzically. There was something she'd been meaning to ask him because even after two days and nights, she'd been unable to get it out of her mind.

"Does the name 'Castiel' mean anything to you, Mr. Smith?"

Dean, who'd been in the process of grumpily chomping down on an ice chip, bit down hard on the inside on his cheek. _Shit._ _Guess I really had been yelling louder than I thought. _Sure, the name meant something to him; it meant more than something. That was the name of the one who'd pulled him out of Hell, it was the angel who went through agonizing torture at the hands of one of the Pit's most skilled torturer's for the sake of serving his Father. What was the correct way to respond? He tried to brush off the question with a careless shrug. "Should it?"

"I thought it would have held some meaning, seeing as it was the name you were calling out when you were an inch away from seeing what's on the other side."

_Yeah, you have no idea what the other side looks like. I've been there and done that._ Nevertheless, he had to play dumb. From what he'd seen, Marie was just a normal, caring woman who liked doing her job. She didn't need her days hounded by the knowledge that the apocalypse was imminent, that angels and demons were fighting over the fate of her soul, among the other six billion in the world. She didn't need to know about Cas. Swallowing his pride, Dean looked up. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Marie knew the man was lying, in the way his gaze flickered uneasily to the left and then up, avoiding her eyes. Tentatively, she tried pushing her luck a little further. "And what about that burn on your arm, the one in the shape of a _handprint_? Do you have no idea how that got there too?"

Dean froze and glanced down to where he, even without thinking about it, had been clutching rather tightly to his bandaged left bicep, where there remained the evidence of Castiel's existence and of the angel's work.

* * *

"Brilliant," Belial murmured in approval as he walked in a slow circle around the angel, step siding patches of blood. "_Bloody_ brilliant. Sam Winchester is a one of a kind pupil, isn't he?" The demon whistled in praise as he saw the white of kneecaps jutting out from in between torn flesh and nudged the captive's leg none too gently.

"You know, I've always appreciated innovation and creativity when it comes to art," he continued in a pleasant tone as if he was merely chatting about the weather or what type of champagne to serve at his next party. "What a shame; I wasn't even here to watch the artist's creative process. But he has exceeded my expectations, I didn't even tell him to use the crowbar or the aluminum baseball bat that so happened to be sitting there in the corner. Smart lad, that one."

Belial reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief that had once been white, but was now spotted red with blood. Reaching out, he pressed the cloth against a purple-black swollen cheek and chuckled softly when Castiel jerked his face away. "Now Cas," he admonished in a sing-song tone, "you mustn't do that. Or you'll force me to do this-" He clenched a fist and sent it shooting upwards, making the angel's head rocket backwards into the frame he was chained to. "There." The handkerchief was dabbed against fresh tracks of blood. "That's better, isn't it?"

It wasn't.

Castiel's eyes could have been shut or he could have been glaring in anger- it was hard to tell because it was nearly impossible to see the slits of sharp blue, so swollen was his face. The angel looked like he had tried to take on a concrete wall by slamming himself headlong into it a hundred times over. His high cheekbones had been shattered by Sam's relentless fists; cartilage had given way with the first blow and his mouth was a frothy mess of blood that bubbled over split lips with each painful breath.

"I've seen this before," Belial mused thoughtfully and drew back for a moment, cocking his head to the side in mock contemplation. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers in a moment of revelation. "Ah yes! What I see before me now…" he inhaled the coppery stench of blood and smiled. "This is the start of my greatest work. And you get to be a part of it, _Cas_, don't you feel honored?"

The angel seemed to stiffen at the torturous familiarity of the moniker and his fingers twitched. _May the Lord Almighty strike you down into the eternal fire._ "Go to Hell." He spat out, literally. Blood gurgled in his throat.

"Oh, I think I'll pass." Belial stepped forward again, grasping hold of the broken jaw and grinding the fractured bones together, grinning in morbid amusement at the lines of pain in the angel's face as he wiped away the blood, just so he could see the entirety of what Sam had done to destroy the beautiful celestial creature's features. "But how about I take you down for a visit, hmm?" The demon jabbed his elbow into cracked ribs, jostling their position against straining lungs, leaning in close to whisper in the other's ear. "Or have you already forgotten what it was the last time you visited the Pit?"

With effort, Castiel tried to turn his head away, as only he could do but to no avail. His soul shuddered at the very memory of the darkness that threatened to twist his grace as it seemed to seep through the wounds inflicted upon him in the Pit; he could hear the wails of the tormented, all those who had once been the Father's creations and seeing their helpless souls being torn apart again…and again… just as his own form was being slowly shredded. Alastair had started slowly, peeling the skin off in paper-thin layers, then slicing through muscle like he was creating a julienne of lunchmeat. _Do not think upon it, that is what has passed and it must not be revisited. Think only of God's grace and how to serve the Lord, think only of-_

"You amuse me, old sport." Belial stepped away and Castiel seemed to breathe easier. "But more than that, you… inspire the creator in me. You are my muse, in some aspects." He began to walk back toward the door. "And with young Winchester as my tool, I shall carve you into a masterpiece to behold."

"Sam is stronger than that," Castiel said in a flat voice, trying to alternate between breathing and talking, as his crushed nasal cavity and blood-filled mouth would not permit him to do with at the same time. The lights flickered off and the angel was left with the visage of the demon smirking beneath Mason Todd's features, left in the darkness with Belial's last, taunting words:

"But are _you_?"

* * *

"_Marie Cortez, please report to the nurses' station immediately. Marie Cortez, please report to the nurses' station immediately."_

Dean welcomed the distraction as the announcement came over the PA and smiled innocently up at the nurse. Marie, meanwhile, was trying to figure out exactly how this shrewd man could've managed to make things work in his favor. She couldn't say no to reporting to the station immediately, she ran the risk of displaying insubordination in front of one of her supervisors. However, having volunteered to take the late shift along this specific corridor, there wasn't much she could do to prevent the patient from making a break for it.

"Miss Cortez?"

She turned at the soft, melodious voice, wondering who in the world possessed such a beautiful set of vocal chords and the last sensations she experienced before absolutely everything went blank was a pair of piercing, silver-green eyes and two long, elegant fingers pressed directly against the center of her forehead.

_Cas would've caught her and made she sure didn't bang her head against anything as she went down._ Dean couldn't help but think absent-mindedly as Gabriel turned away from the fallen woman. The angel still looked the same, and for that he was thankful. It was immensely easier to keep track of who was who when they weren't switching bodies every time he ran across one of them.

"What're you doing here?" He really didn't care if it sounded rude being the first thing out of his mouth. Besides, last time they had a… er, _chat_, the archangel had only threatened him in regards to disrespecting Cas. And it wasn't his fault that his mind was still muddled from the latest run in with Alastair that he needed nearly everything spelled out for him like a grade-school kid.

"Where is your brother?"

Dean blinked._ What?_ He hadn't been expecting that.

Gabriel took in the hunter's silence and the expression on Dean's face as he struggled to come up with an adequate answer and the angel's blank face turned grim. "Why the hell do you care where Sam is?" the elder Winchester finally managed to fire back, though with considerably less venom than he'd intended. "Hey! Answer me."

The reply was one that he wasn't prepared to hear. "Dean, if you don't know where Sam is… then both of our brothers are missing."

_A/N: Sorry if it seems a little slow; it starts to pick up in the next chapter, I promise! Oh, and for those of you who may be worried, don't worry about Marie. She's not going to become a Mary-sue! Please review! _


	4. Forsaken

_A/N: A big thank you to all of my reviewers! This story idea is a friend's plotbunny that I'm helping to bring to life and I'm glad that you guys are enjoying it so much! _

_Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its affiliates belong to Eric Kripke._

_The two figures threw dark shadows against the pristine white blanket that coated the ground. One stood, almost blending in with the surroundings in the colorless suit, devoid of all color and matching the individual's face in blankness. The other figure sat on the park bench, hunched over in a khaki trench coat, face drawn and haggard. Lines of weariness lined the handsome features highlighted by sapphire eyes that pierced through the darkness, world-weary. _

"_I have been sent to bring you back to the halls of our Father." It was the standing man who spoke, though one would have hesitated to call him a man. There seemed to be an eerie otherworldliness about him, from his silver-green gaze right down to the perfection of his seamless suit. "You should not have returned to the field so soon after what happened."_

_The blue-eyed man sighed and dropped his head. He emanated the same ethereal qualities as the other, though dampened by an overwhelming sense of exhaustion and anxiety that made him seem more… normal, for lack of better words. "There is no time to lose. I cannot return." _

"_You were nearly sent back by force at the hands of a demon, having not regained enough of your strength to be confronting Alastair again. Yet you insisted on returning to the field regardless of my better judgment." He placed a hand on his companion's back, where the coat was torn and spotted with blood. His expressionless mien did not show compassion, but there was evident care for the other's safety. "You must rest, Castiel. Do not try to sway my decision this time. Dean Winchester is safer now that Alastair is dead."_

_Castiel almost flinched then, staring determinedly down at his hands. "He is my charge," the angel said faintly, so soft that it was inaudible to the human sense of audition. "And I failed to protect him." Guilt colored his voice. "Now after seeing what Sam has done… I fear that the fight to save that boy's soul is also being lost."_

_Gabriel glanced down at his brother. "Perhaps it is the will of the Almighty for this to occur."_

"_No." Castiel's rebuttal was instantaneous and surprisingly sharp. "Our Father would not, in all His grace, He would never allow kin to be torn apart thus." _

"_Do not assume knowledge of the plans of God." Though it was an admonishment, the other's tone held undercurrents of what seemed to be understanding, but nothing quite so genuine of a feeling. Silence passed in between the two before Castiel rose stiffly, turning and starting to walk away. Gabriel did not move, but spoke. "Where are you going?"_

"_I am going to find out what happened tonight; how Alastair was able to break free from that devil's trap, and I am going to put an end to the slaying of our kin." _

_Before Castiel could take another step, the superior angel was in front of him, blocking his path. "Why do you insist upon such action at your own risk?" Gabriel asked coolly. "You are in no state to do anything but convalesce." _

"_My task is to keep my charge safe." _

"_I must remind you that Samuel Winchester is not your charge. You know that he is headed down a dangerous path, and his brother would do anything to save him." The archangel made his own brother look him in the eye. "How will you keep Dean safe from his own blood?"_

_Castiel's shoulders stiffened. "Sam is strong," he murmured, more to himself than as an answer. "He will not easily succumb to the temptations of evil. I have hope that he will choose the right path."_

_

* * *

_

"You're sorry, isn't that right? Isn't that all you said after what happened to my brother?"

There was a flash of steel as the blade swung in a wide, seeping arc, cutting through skin and the muscle beneath to bring forth spurts of blood that splashed against cold concrete. Sam dragged Lucifer's sword across every inch of his victim's frame that wasn't already covered in lacerations, continuing to mutilate the already abused flesh that showed the initial stages of healing before the skin was split open again by the young hunter's relentless slashing.

"How sorry are you now, you son of a bitch?" he snarled, bringing his fist forward. Fresh crimson stained his knuckles. "I'm going to make you feel everything you dished out upon my brother and there's no miracle at the end of the road this time, no one to come looking for you. You know why, _Cas_?" Sam slurred the familiar nickname mockingly. "'Cause now even Dean knows that we're all better off without you and your goddamn orders given some disembodied God who's never done a damn thing for anyone down here!"

_God._ Sam nearly laughed aloud. God didn't exist. All that existed here and now was the power, the feel of adrenaline laced with an unnamable drive as it fed strength to his limbs, to his fingers clenched around the cold hilt of Lucifer's sword that had quickly warmed in his grasp and grew sticky with the angel's blood. _How's your Father going to save you now?_ He stabbed the blade into Castiel's side, in up to its hilt and dragged it down through his flesh.

Castiel's body automatically convulsed even as his eyes burned bright in resilience against the torture. _His mind is polluted, he knows not of what he speaks._ The sword burned as it dug lines of fire through his vessel and he could barely manage to keep healing himself as not to let his vessel bleed dry. "Sam," he whispered thickly, trying to block out the hunter's words, those words that stung and cut deep even more than Lucifer's sword itself. "You are not yourself, you must fight against the demons' hold over your mind, please do not heed-"

"This _is_ what I am," Sam shot back, punctuating each word with a forceful note of finality that absolutely broke the angel's heart to hear. "This was what I was turned into right from the beginning and isn't this your Father's will for me?" With a scoff of disdain he ripped the sword out of Castiel. "And what they give me makes in stronger in ways that you couldn't even _imagine_."

His head hung low and he breathed shallowly. _You're wrong, Sam. This isn't strength; it is corruption._ "Your brother…" the angel gasped raggedly. _Dean wouldn't want to lose you to everything he has tried all his life to save you from.. _

Fingers fisted in his vessel's hair near the roots and jerked his head up forcibly; his cheek met and gave way to the cold edge of steel slick with his own blood. "This is for all the shit you've put him through," Sam growled, face pressed so close to his that Castiel could see the bloodlust and vengeance in the other's eyes. The young hunter pulled the other's head back even further, baring his throat and placing Lucifer's sword against the exposing the jugular vein.

"And this is for me."

The blade broke the skin and sunk inwards, bringing forth an arc of crimson.

* * *

_Damn angels, can't manage to have a decent conversation for even five minutes before they disappear off into oblivion._ Dean scrubbed at his face wearily with one hand, trying to prop his heavy eyelids open by sheer force of will while attempting to maintain control over the wheel with his other hand. It wasn't working.

"_Both of our brothers are missing_."

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

That was all Gabriel had so graciously offered before the angel disappeared again, leaving him standing there on the hospital lawn, gaping at thin air like a drowned fish. Presently, he'd come to his senses and realized that if he stood there for much longer like an idiot child, the hospital staff would find him soon and it would be back to being kept under 24/7 surveillance, the terrible food (he swore he would never eat green jello again) and that damn gown.

He'd been intent on going for a drive to clear his head and to possibly chase down Gabriel for more information even though he had no earthly clue where the angel had gone. Three circles around the hospital parking lot had only resulted in one very frustrated hunter and a yell that must've been heard even three or four states over.

"_WHO THE HELL TOOK MY CAR??!!_"

Needless to say, Dean was more than confused or irked now; he was downright pissed off. His brother was missing, his car had been jacked- probably by some little punk; there was _so_ going to be hell to pay if there was even a scratch on his baby- and what was Gabriel trying to play at? _His brother? Damn angel's got thousands of brothers if he's got one, and-_

The realization slammed into his mind so suddenly, so abruptly that he literally jumped, feet slamming on both the brakes and accelerator at the same time, making the old Toyota pickup he'd…ah, _borrowed_ from the parking lot wheeze and make several odd sputtering sounds as it jerked to the left before. It certainly must have been an entertaining sight to anyone watching, but in Dean's mind, there was nothing humorous about the situation.

It was Castiel he'd been talking about; for who else made those slivers of emotion color Gabriel's blank mien? Cas was missing. Again.

_Damn it Cas._ Why did the holy tax accountant always seem to be singled out by the demons? Once upon a time, the next question that would have sounded out in his mind would have been why he cared so much, but Dean knew the answer to that question. He'd learned it the hard way, by seeing Castiel getting torn apart in Hell and right in front of his eyes and it was a lesson that, when once learned, he never wanted to undergo ever again.

But here he was. _Again._

It wasn't fear that overwhelmed his senses now; it wasn't fear that was drawing his brows tight together or making his lips set into a thin, narrow line. No, it was a feeling strangely akin to… was it _annoyance_? Dean clenched his jaw tight and focused his stare straight ahead on the headlights that lit up the darkened road. Why _did_ Castiel always seem to be getting himself in such bang-up situations? He thought angels were supposed to be fierce warriors. _Yeah, right. Just how many times has he gotten his ass kicked in a fight? _And _why_ was he always the one that had to take the initiative to go and save the angel? _What am I, his personal guardian? I thought it was supposed to be the other way around. _

Dean shook his head, trying to ignore the raised ridges in the shape of Castiel's handprint as they itched under the bandages, inhaling deeply as if that could ward away the burning. Wasn't it bad enough that the angels had already branded him, now they wanted to tie him on a leash and jerk him around on a chain? _I've already done everything they've ever asked me to do._

"_No. No way. You can't ask me to do this, Cas. Not this." _

Nevertheless, in the end, he'd done what the angel asked. But Gabriel hadn't explicitly asked for his help and this time around, Dean wasn't going to offer it.

_My brother is missing too. And this time, Sam is my top priority._

_

* * *

_

"_No one wants you," he hissed in the other's ear, twisting his fingers, which were still woven in the other's hair. "No one needs you. And that's _exactly_ why no one is going to save you." He stepped back and the angel's head lolled limply, chin nearly touching the handle of Lucifer's sword where it stuck out of his already torn up chest. _

Sam clutched his stomach, mouth open in a silent scream he couldn't give voice to as the pain kept building and building, tearing apart his organs and growing so intense that his knees nearly buckled. Breathing was difficult as he clutched to the sides of the porcelain sink, raising his head to stare at his pale reflection.

He blinked. There were flecks of red staining his face in places and splatters elsewhere. Shakily, the hunter raised a hand to wipe at the unknown substance. _Blood? What the hell- how did I get this much blood on me and whose is it?_

A sharp pain lanced through his stomach and, clutching it, his legs gave way. Sam fell to the floor, suddenly overtaken with uncontrollable tremors that wracked his large six-foot-four frame and he brought his knees into his chest, trying to make it all stop and somehow wondering at the absurdity of having marble as the floor of a _bathroom_ above the other five thousand tongues in his mind screaming for attention and for what he so desperately needed, what he _craved_-

"_You see this?" He sifted a hand through the fine, granular substance and made a show of dumping the entire container into the rather large tub of water that sat on the ground near his feet. "Know what it is? Come on, I'll let you guess. Some people throw it over their shoulder for luck; it repels demons, and hurts like hell if you're a ghost." Languidly, he bent and filled a pail up to the brim and straightened. "I'm not sure if it affects angels, but I do know…" He met the dull blue eyes of his victim with a sneer, "that no matter what you are, in an open wounds, it hurts like a bitch." _

_With that, he hefted the pail up over his shoulder, and dumped the entire bucket's contents over the angel and watched the ice-cold salt water do its work. _

_Castiel's limbs tightened; the cords in his neck stood out and he thrashed wildly against the restraints, eyes fixed on something beyond the grey ceiling and the blinding lights overhead. As the saltwater ran in rivulets over the edges of torn flesh and into the open wounds, he jerked spastically, body going into trauma-induced shock. _

Sam covered his face with his hands, what were these images that were swarming into his mind, what in God's name was happening to him and why couldn't he stop shaking? Sweat beaded on his brow and trailed down his face, it darkened his clothes and he didn't understand why he was sweating so much if he couldn't stop _shaking_.

By a source of power that was not his own, he found the strength to prop himself up on his elbows and half-crawled, half dragged himself over to the large and ornate vintage bathtub, the type that stood upon on its own clawed feet and Sam grappled for the side of it; suddenly his vision was going blurry too…

A trembling hand grasped the knob for and then the water was rushing out of the faucet, a cold and relentless deluge that poured down to wash away all the blood and vaguely he wondered if it could wash away all the pain and the want- damn it, just thinking about it made his stomach clench even more.

"_Samuel," Castiel sputtered weakly, hanging heavy against his bonds. The angel stiffened and turned his face away from the next bucketful of salt water, for that was all he could do. "You cannot submit to them, this is not what-"_

"_Save it." Sam cut in, closing his fingers around the hilt of the sword and locking eyes with the angel. The blue orbs were so full of pain and he smirked; that meant he was doing his job. But upon closer inspection, he saw something else, and it made his blood boil. Instead of hate, instead of anger and holy wrath, he saw pity and sadness. "You feel sorry for me?" he snarled. "Feel sorry for yourself. No one's going to come for you." With that, he wrenched the blade free and, grasping a fistful of salt, ground the mineral substance into the large, gaping gash._

_

* * *

_

"Sam?"

He knew that voice. He didn't know how long he'd been lying there like that, half-in and half-out of the tub, a steady stream of icy water beating down on the upper part of his body as he pressed his face against the cool bottom of the tub and tried to remember how to breathe. He knew the voice and the light footsteps, but he couldn't move.

"Oh, Sam." Hands pulled at him and somehow, with their assistance, he found the strength to right himself just long enough to shift from out of the tub before he collapsed against the slight girl, nearly bringing her smaller form to the ground beneath him, but she caught him and steadied both of them until they sat on the marble floor together, with her cradling his head in her lap.

"Ruby," he stuttered out through chattering teeth. "What's going- why am I…I can't-"

"_Shh_." Her fingers wove themselves into his wet hair and gradually, gradually Sam felt the tremors subsiding and the voices in his head quieting, though they were still there, the occasional whisper that jabbered louder and louder until he could barely stand it. For now though, there was only the cool hardness of the floor, the wetness his own frame and the warmth that Ruby provided. He clung to her, because he knew something was missing and perhaps if he held onto her, the only solid thing that proved reliable at this point in time, he would figure out what it was.

_What the hell is happening to me?_

"You're getting stronger, Sammy." Her silky voice flowed over him, in an answer to his unspoken query. "And I'm _so _proud of you."

Without warning, a piercing scream shattered the calm and Sam cried out, doubling over and clasping his hands over his ears, but he knew it would have no effect because the noise was inside his mind, growing louder and louder. The shooting pains in his stomach now felt like someone was stabbing him over and over in the exact same spot. His extremities started jerking at odd angles again and the world spun around in a myriad of colors and forms; nausea was slowly overtaking all of his senses. "Ruby," he croaked, helpless. Needy. "I-I need it, please, _please_!"

"I can't give it to you, Sam. Not yet."

_Not yet? _What the _hell_ did that mean? "Why?!!" It was a howl of desperation. He felt her caressing the back of his neck and he buried his face into her stomach, trembling still. Suddenly, he heard another sound and cringed, rounding his shoulders in automatic defense against a threat that he knew nothing about, that he didn't even know if it was real or simply in his head. "Wh-what-"

"Oh, that?" Ruby raised her head and gazed off into the distance in the direction from which there came the sounds of growling and barking, her arms still encircling the shaking younger Winchester. A smirk curved her lips. "Don't you remember, Sammy? You're the one that called them up out of Hell to join in on the fun. Shh, it's alright. Don't be scared. That's just the hellhounds coming to get their taste of an angel."

_A/N: Oh, wow. Um…I tried my best? I don't think there's much more to be said. I am by no means an authority on any aspect of health, but all that has been presented in this chapter has been carefully researched and written with the utmost respect to all of my readers. _

_Please review!_


	5. Failure

_A/N: Thank you to all of my reviewers! Sorry for the bit of music mumbo jumbo here at the beginning, but kudos to whoever can figure out the musical score. Enjoy the chapter!_

_Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its affiliates belong to Eric Kripke._

Art was said to the expression of the soul, revealing the abstractions of what was too radical, too passionate, too controversial to be spoken of in public. To reach out to the peoples of the world and helping them to cast off the societal restrictions and roles that made all deaf, dumb, and blind. Nothing required more courage than laying bare the contours of the mind and wild stretches of the imagination for all to witness- even if they did not understand.

The short-short-short-long motif sounded out bold and loud, quickly followed by the allegro con brio of the first movement. The strings sang together in grandiose crescendos and diminuendos and the symphony swelled, filling the spacious interior space with its dramatic overtones and swirling around the office's only occupant, notes nearly tangible in the semi-darkness.

A single lighted lamp on the finely crafted teak desk cast eerie shadows on the walls and hid the individual partially in shadow. Manicured fingers closed around the stem of the wineglass and the man deeply inhaled the blended aroma of berries spices, and leather. Swirling the French red burgundy around once, twice, and again, he lifted the glass to his lips and sipped the flavors of faint soy sauce, flowers, and licorice.

_Ah, the Pit below may be home sweet home, but there's just so much to enjoy up here._ He grinned to himself, leaning his head back against Mason Todd's leather office chair as the symphony's second movement swept over him in an invisible wave of clarinets, bassoons, strings, and flutes. It was always rather hot down there anyway, and quite noisy at times too. He guessed he was unlike the other demons in the sense that he preferred classical music to the never-ending screeches of tormented souls, but then again Belial was no ordinary demon.

He wasn't merely an instrument of torture, no; Belial liked to think of himself as an artist, not a butcher- and a damn selective one at that. Picky, even. Whereas Alastair was the type to tear apart any soul he could get his hands on without discrimination, he had a knack for carefully choosing whom he wanted to spend his time with. For while Hell's former Chief Torturer had been hailed by many as Picasso with a knife, Belial was the uncontested champion in wearing down his victims in record speed. A frown creased his brow. _Never really fancied those monstrosities of abstractions that Spaniard produced, anyhow._

The scherzo allegro of the third movement started up, the strings quieting down as the trio sounded out in the traditional classical style. The demon poured himself another glass of the 1997 Romane Conti and sipped the vintage wine slowly, picturing in his mind's eye his current captive and what a magnificent masterpiece the angel was, hanging there helplessly, illuminated by a single overhead light and bathed in crimson… _My magnum opus._

"_Castiel_," he murmured, rolling the name around and around his tongue. Out of all the souls he'd toyed with before, none intrigued him more than this beautiful angel with eyes of sapphire and voice that seemed to have been woven of the finest Italian silk. _Oh, I've wanting to get my hands on you for a while now, my pet._ To taste the salt of tears from those bottomless pools that held so much admirable loyalty and the blood that smelled sweeter than the wine he was sampling now…

Reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, Belial withdrew a familiar white handkerchief that now held the intoxicating scent and brought the bloodstained cloth up to his face, inhaling deeply as the triumphant and exhilarating finale of the symphony's fourth movement began. All instruments were rising up into a crescendo and grandly playing out the fortissimo of the piece's stormy, heroic tonality. The demon felt a stirring in his loins as he drank in the coppery memories and imagined the sound of that flawless voice lifted up in a scream of agony-

_Bzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzz._

A corner of the demon's mouth twitched at the intrusion of the vibrating cell phone and emotionlessly, with an air of extraordinary and chilling calm, Belial opened his eyes and reached for the offending communication device. _I told that ditzy lass of a secretary that 'Mr. Todd' was not to have any interruptions…_ With a sigh Belial supposed that he would have to…_fire_ her, and wondered how her husband would like discovering his wife on their front porch steps, skinned and eviscerated. He glanced down at the buzzing apparatus.

_Well now, just wait a moment. _It wasn't his Blackberry that was vibrating. The screen showed an identity that the entirety of both Heaven and Hell were well familiar with and Belial chuckled, crushing the phone in his hand and the screen that displayed a four-letter name.

**Dean**

"So sorry, lad," the demon said smoothly, getting to his feet and smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles out of his pinstripe suit. "Little brother is busy right now."

* * *

"Damn it Sammy, pick up!"

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and glared at his cell phone as if it was the reason he kept coming up with his brother's voicemail after what seemed to be five hundred rings. Impatiently he tried speed-dialing number one again, drumming his fingers on the desktop as he waited. And waited.

"Hey, you've reached Sam-"

He hurled the phone across the motel room, frustrated. It hit the wall with a tremendous crack but it didn't seem to faze the hunter at all as he ran his fingers through his short hair and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, trying to think of what to do next. _Alright. Just calm down. Breathe. Try not to think about the fact that your brother's disappeared while half of Heaven is on his ass wanting to kill him and half of Hell wants to kidnap him so he can be used as Lucifer's puppet. _

Dean groaned aloud. His powers of mental reasoning weren't helping much and he scowled, kicking the foot of the bed just to project his annoyance. Sure, he promised their father that he would look out for Sam, but John hadn't mentioned how to do that exactly when his brother vanished into thin air! The hunter glanced at the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition calendar posted up on the wall by the gracious hotel staff. Any other time he would've been lounging on the bed, examining each month (_hello, Miss April_) but now, determined green eyes scanned the dates.

Two days. Marie said that he'd been out of it for two days after he'd been brought in, and he'd been holed up here like a rat trying to find its way to the piece of cheese for another day. Add in the day he spent- _wasted_, his mind argued- driving around aimlessly looking for Sam and not know where to start, and that meant that his brother disappeared without a trace and now had been missing for the better part of nearly a week. Sam could be anywhere in the damn country by now. _And with my baby too…_ Dean groused, glaring at the silver laptop that lay on the table in front of him, the only part of his brother that was still-

_Laptop._ Dean blinked, and almost smacked himself on the side of the head. _Idiot! Use the GPS in his phone, just like last time._ Reaching out he grabbed the portable computer and flipped the screen up, feeling a bit awkward as he did so. This laptop was almost as important to Sam as the Impala was to him, and researching had always Sam's niche anyway. _And apparently so is pulling these random disappearing acts._

He jabbed the space bar a few times and waited for the laptop to boot itself back up, tilting back in the chair and stretching his arms over his head. He was still sore from the beating he took a couple of days back and he winced as his sore ribs twinged. _Well, it could've been a whole lot worse if Cas hadn't shown up when he did and-_

As the neurons carrying the signals that pieced together the angel's name in his mind reached their action potential and fired; as Dean registered exactly what it was that he was thinking, there was triggered an automatic response in the form of the god-awful tingling in his left bicep. It hadn't gone away since he woke up in the hospital and had been a stark reminder of he didn't know exactly what, but now, as mere passing thought of Castiel rose to the forefront of his consciousness, the angel's handprint began to itch.

"_He targeted Castiel as the sacrifice required for the breaking of this seal specifically because it is his handprint that marks you, and because you are his charge. Alastair made my brother suffer in ways beyond human capacity for understanding or imagination… Now you know exactly how much he underwent for your sake." _

Gabriel's cool voice rung out in his mind and Dean set his jaw firmly, glaring at the white of the bandage as it stood out against otherwise tanned skin- but this time it wasn't a frown of irritation but confused helplessness and guilt, mingled perhaps with the tiniest hint of fear. He was pretty sure that the extent of his understanding of pain went beyond the normal boundaries of any other human being alive; yeah, he could imagine it alright-

_Castiel's face was bloodless, drained of all color; save for his lips, which had turned an alarming shade of blue. His dulled eyes were half-lidded, uplifted to the sky and empty, devoid of any spark of warmth and compassion so often displayed or the more recent slivers of doubt and uncertainty…devoid of life. Dean grabbed the cold body, shaking the angel hard as a scream lodged itself in his throat. There was no way he was gone, it couldn't be true; angels weren't supposed to die… Don't do this; wake up Cas, open your goddamn eyes! _

Biting down on his tongue hard, Dean pushed his palms against his eyes, trying to will the nightmarish image out of his mind. No one could say that he didn't care about the angel because it would've been a damn lie. Oh, he cared. But how the hell was he supposed to go about looking for an angel? It wasn't as if Castiel had a GPS on him and who was he supposed to go to, the cops? Oh yeah, he could see it right now.

"_I'd like to report a missing person. He's about yea tall and I'm not sure how many pounds; he's dressed like a tax accountant but he's really an angel of the Lord sent down to stop Lilith from breaking the sixty-six seals to prevent the Apocalypse. He's got no sense of humor and always looks like he's brooding over something- What? No, I'm not insane. Of course I'm not Dean Winchester, the wanted fugitive. Why do you ask?"_

It was Gabriel's job to look after him; after all, Castiel wasn't _his_ younger brother and Dean was pretty sure that the archangel was more than competent enough to right whatever mess had occurred this time around. So why the nasty clenching feeling in his gut? The burn itched and he glared spitefully as he scratched at it underneath the bandage that he still hadn't taken off. Was it to hide what was underneath, or to push something else away, out of sight and out of mind?

* * *

_Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you._

Labored, shallow breathing filled the interior of the glass cell, each more difficult and painful than the last. Glazed blue eyes slowly traced the bleak surroundings. Castiel's vision wavered and his entire body felt like one, raw nerve that ached to scream, to give voice to the pain that wrapped the angel in its unforgiving grip. How long had it been since Uriel's betrayal, since he first saw the glimmer of malicious intent in Sam Winchester's eyes, since the torture began? He couldn't tell.

"_No one's coming for you; there'll be no miracle at the end of the road this time."_

Castiel drew in a trembling breath, trying to focus on healing his vessel and shutting out the words that still rung in his ears, that still bounced off the glass walls to taunt him in the otherwise silent room. Sam had a right to be angry; the trap shouldn't have broken, he should not have believed the fabricated order that commanded Dean to be the one to pick up the knife, he should have been stronger than Alastair. _But I failed._

"_I only killed the ones who said no. The others have joined me." _

Sam was right. Who was there to come for him? He was alone. None of his brothers and sisters- those who hadn't already been converted, anyway- would ever imagine that the one who was murdering their kin was one of their own, that Uriel had chosen the path of disobedience. If anything, Castiel realized, the suspicion would fall upon him; he who was getting too close to the human in his charge. _Yes,_ he thought bitterly, _close enough to let Dean fall into the hands of evil while I stood aside, contemplating doubt and disobedience._

Would Dean bother searching for him? Did the righteous man who had broken the first seal even care about the wellbeing of an angel that had let him down all too often, being too weak to protect his charge against the burden that weighed down upon his shoulders? _He has no obligation to do so. I am already in his debt._ Castiel hung his head, absolutely miserable. He was the one with the responsibility to protect Dean Winchester, but over time, duty had slowly evolved into genuine concern for the other's safety, as well as what Castiel could only describe as…an amiability toward his charge. Was the reciprocation of such friendship too much to hope for?

Footsteps sounded down the hallway in the darkness and Castiel's hands clenched into fists; he steeled himself for what was to come although the hellhounds had done quite a number on him; after they had finished ripping him apart, his vessel's entire frame had resembled something akin to ground beef. The lights snapped on and as white flashed across his vision temporarily, he prayed. _He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken. _But as the angel lifted his head wearily to identify who it was staggering toward him, darkness closed around the edges of his feeble hope.

Sam's brow was beaded with sweat and his face shone bright with a crazed, lucid desperation. He could barely hold himself upright and as Castiel gazed at him sadly, the angel saw none of what made up the younger Winchester. Gone was the earnest young man ready to defy orders from Heaven to save a town at the risk of losing a seal, gone was the boy willing to do anything to save his brother's soul. Now, there was only a raw craving of dangerous frenzy.

_I'm sorry, Sam. _Castiel wanted to plead for the boy's forgiveness, but he could say nothing. _I'm sorry that I could not save you from yourself._

Belial stepped out from the shadows, hands calmly folded behind his back as he observed the pained expression on the angel's attractive features and chuckled quietly. _Dear Cas, if only you knew what I have in store for you…_ "Starting to feel, Castiel?"

The angel's eyes snapped toward him, wide and filled with shock. Belial smirked at the naivety and innocence so clearly displayed there. The demon reached out and patted Sam's shoulder in an encouraging manner, as a mentor would to his pupil. As a father would to his son. "Go ahead, lad. Just like I taught you."

Jaw working furiously as if he was trying to say something, Sam stared at Castiel for a moment. His left eye twitched and a tremor ran through his entire frame before he jerkily raised an arm and thrust it out and toward the bound angel, face screwing up in concentration. "Feel _this_."

Castiel's vessel froze but the angel could feel his entire being, his very soul beginning to twist and clench in indescribable agony. _I am in pain and distress; may your salvation, O God, protect me…_ But was God here to hear him?

* * *

_Okay…_ Dean rubbed his eyes and squinted at the computer screen, at the blinking cursor that indicated where Sam and the hunter's eyebrow quirked upward. _What the hell are you doin' there, Sammy?_ Tilting his head, he leaned in closer to make sure he was reading the map right, simultaneously reaching for a scrap piece of paper to jot down the address-

It hit him like an eighteen-wheeler plowing into his stomach and Dean's face contorted as he doubled over, holding his mid-section. His mouth opened but there wasn't enough air in his lungs to breathe let alone yell out his discomfort; he fell off the chair and hit the grimy motel room floor hard, clutching his torso as fire seared through his body. _God! _

Dean Winchester knew pain all too well. He'd taken bullets and then dug the slugs out of his own body; he'd gotten into countless fistfights and he was no stranger to broken bones. He'd been to Hell and back, every sensation of what had been inflicted upon him still fresh in his mind. However, he did not, could not have known this. It felt as if someone had shoved an invisible fist into his chest and was scrambling his internal organs, rearranging them at will and wreaking havoc on his senses; he curled into a fetal position but that only seemed to make it worse.

The invisible force jerked his head upwards. He opened his eyes and gaped in disbelief. _Sam? _His brother had a half-crazed look on his face and suddenly Dean was aware that he was bound to something in a large room that seemed to have glass walls and _goddamn_, every inch of him hurt like hell. Breathing was a chore in and of itself and he felt strangely heavy, as if the body he was in wasn't his at all.

Sam's arm was outstretched toward him like whenever his brother decided to use his freaky psychic powers and instant anger made Dean's brow crease. _Why the HELL are you still using that-_ he tried to yell at the other but Sam merely closed his fingers into a fist and Dean's lungs went into a spasm; his liver socked his stomach, hard and blood filled his mouth, running down his chin. _What is this?!! _He fought against the chains restraining him to…something, he couldn't tell what and twisted his head this way and that, eyes darting around skittishly like a rat trapped in a cage.

_Someone get me out of here, Oh God, make it stop, get me away from him..._ Dean could hardly believe that he was calling for help against his brother but one thing he knew was that that man standing there, somehow inflicting so much pain with just a twitch of his fingers was _not_ his brother. There was no way that was Sammy.

He was walking closer now, this stranger who was wearing his brother's features and Dean tried to put some distance between them, silently vowing to hunt down whichever demon was possessing Sam and let him taste the edge of Ruby's knife when he suddenly remembered the symbols both of them had tattooed warding against demonic possession and his confusion mounted to incredible proportions. The fist was lifted again and he flinched, waiting for the wave of torture-

Something cool was pressing hard against his forehead and Dean blinked, fuzzy mind throwing off the cloud of pain and he found himself back in the motel room, with someone's slim fingers poking the center of his brow and he jerked his head back, glancing up and directly into the piercing silver-green eyes of Heaven's messenger angel.

Gabriel's expression was unreadable, as always but there was a flicker of something dangerous in his gaze and the hunter realized that he was still on the floor, with the angel kneeling over him and probably getting his absurdly clean white suit dirty by the filthy motel room's carpet. The sharp, penetrating gaze moved from holding his downward and, puzzled, Dean looked too.

The archangel's elegant, steely fingers of his other hand were closed firmly around the hunter's wrist, pulling his hand away from where Dean had been unconsciously clutching his left bicep. Without a word, Gabriel reached down and in one swift move, tore through the layers of white bandages to reveal the burned on handprint underneath. Dean jerked in shock, grabbing his own arm and staring in horror. "What the hell?"

He was no doctor, but he was sure that before, the seared flesh had only constituted as a first degree burn…but now, staring down at the inflamed, bright red handprint that was oozing blood, Dean Winchester had no idea what to think.

_A/N: For those of you with questions, don't worry! They'll all be answered in due time. :)__ The scripture versus used in this chapter were Psalm 62:2, Deuteronomy 31:6, and Psalm 69:29. Please drop a review! _


	6. Finding

_A/N: You guys are beyond awesome! Thank you so much for all the reviews (with a shout out to Pessimistic Drip- it was Beethoven's Fifth; you've got skills!) and for the Easter wishes; enjoy the chapter!_

_Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its affiliates belong to Eric Kripke._

It's said that the most virulent harm that could ever be done was below the surface, unseen and unknowable to anyone other than the individual himself. External damage was oftentimes simply superficial and always healed in time. Any life-threatening injury was due to a reduced or loss of blood flow to the brain, thereby always making the most catastrophic trauma internal.

God's creations were all intricately designed and formed with the utmost care by the hands of the Father but man was the most complex of all, the only work with both the ability to reason and a conscience. While man's mind proved to be the more abstract of the entire framework, the body in and of itself was a wonder to behold as well. Scientists these days praised the natural wonders of the human anatomy, but few really understood the infinite details of all of its workings.

Man's ability to withstand pain was minimal, even for those with the strongest of wills. The tolerance of an angel though, even when confined and limited within a human vessel, was much higher, steeled with stronger resolves. Physical harm could be healed by the natural abilities bestowed by God for the restoration of health and in this way, nearly all wounds could be mended in due time.

But what of the wounds that time could not heal, that could not be stitched back together or diagnosed by means of analyzing symptoms, what of those that resided somewhere within?

Bone marrow melted into something even more insubstantial than water, blood thinned out and tendons snapped like threads, muscles sliding over each other into disorder. The unseeable force jerking around his vessel's internal organs like marionettes on pieces of intangible string was crushing his vessel's lungs against his ribs; he could focus on nothing but the tightening and then came the terrible white hot stabbing that would have made any lesser man cry out for mercy.

But Castiel was no man. _I am an angel of the Lord, and I am a warrior of Heaven. I will not break, I will not falter, I will not fall. _He repeated the mantra over and over again to remind himself of his purpose, of the Father above whom he served, whom he would never betray. He refused to open his mouth, refused to give voice to the agony that twisted his inner being. The pain was blinding and so intense that he was nearly robbed of all conscious thought. But that was what the demons wanted, Castiel realized, and so he strove to keep his eyes focused away from Belial's lecherous grin, away from the glazed and unfocused features of the one who was inflicting such torture upon him, dissociating his consciousness from everything within him that screamed to make the agony stop.

His vessel remained still, slumped against his restraints but within it, the angel convulsed as hooks wrapped tight around his spirit and with a mighty jerk, tore and twisted it in every which direction. Somehow, above the screeching of neural sensory receptors, Castiel heard the sharp, unmistakable snap of a bone breaking, but it was impossible to tell which one. Everything hurt too much to differentiate between aches, twinges, and sharp, shooting vibrations that spanned across the length of his frame.

_Evil will slay the wicked. The foes of the righteous will be condemned. The Lord redeems his servants; no one will be condemned who takes refuge in him._ The psalm soothed his soul, but Castiel couldn't help but wonder at the applicability of the words to the current situation. _This boy was not born of evil; he is one of the Father's children and has merely been tempted into traveling down the wrong path. He is no enemy of Heaven, of righteousness. _He understood that his torturer was nothing more than Belial's pawn, a helpless victim, and his heart ached for the boy who never had a chance.

Slowly, slowly, the iron grip around his essence was weakening and Castiel could sense feeling returning as he was once again fully connected with his vessel. However, the release only doubled the amount of pain as the agonies of his physical injuries resurfaced. The angel could now locate the source of the sounds of internal breaks and fractures, of what had been torn asunder and he shuddered at the power that had broken each and every one of his ribs. Unable to move, unable to breathe and unwilling to scream, Castiel did the only thing he could do- he prayed.

_May the Father redeem the souls of his children, all his children. _Including Sam Winchester.

* * *

Sam stumbled, limbs watery and yet unbearably heavy at the same time. He swayed on his feet and threw his arm to the side for support, staggering toward a wall. _What's going on? _The smell of blood filled his nostrils and he frowned in disgust but he couldn't seem to isolate the source in order to distance himself from it; the stench was all around and even on his own self. The younger Winchester blinked, but there was a film of something hanging over his eyes; he knew his surroundings but was a stranger in the place where he stood all at once.

It was different this time; that much was certain. In place of the overwhelming sense of power and feeling as though he could conquer the world, he now felt nothing but pure exhaustion. Gone was the anger and hate that fueled his actions before, although he had no idea why such emotions had surged through his veins; even now he could barely see through the haze clouding his mind.

"Outstanding performance, my boy." A hand clapped down upon his shoulder and his sluggish mind could barely register Belial's honeyed voice sliding out the demon's mouth and filtering through the air, snagging all the available oxygen and sucking the very life out of the room. _Need to get out… _He didn't know why, but there was a cold, dark feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he had to get out of this room, the surroundings of which he couldn't even see clearly. _Have to breathe…have to leave, now!_

Jerking away from out under the demon's grasp, Sam fumbled his way along the coolness of the glass walls that were smeared with something warm and sticky; he squinted down at his hands, at the redness covering him palms, thick as if slathered on like coats of paint and his stomach lurched; a groan left his mouth. _What the hell happened to me?_

He somehow made it out of the room with the glass walls and out into the hallway that felt like a metal coffin more than anything else, inching his way along and not truly knowing where he was going or where his inner compass was taking him. His feet scraped clumsily against the floor and the world spun weirdly, faster and faster until he no longer knew which way was up or down. Momentary panic welled up within his mind as Sam realized that he had absolutely no recollection of anything that had occurred in he didn't know how long. The last thing he remembered was the feel of Ruby's fingers curling in his hair as what sounded like the howls of a pack of wolves ringing in his ears-

"_You're going to have to do better than that to impress me, lad," Belial intoned in a bored voice. The demon crossed his arms and lifted an eyebrow at the entreating, desperate expression on Sam's face. "Well, do you want it or not?"_

_Want it? He was damn sure he couldn't live without it. A bead of perspiration slid down his temple. He turned back to Castiel and this time, instead of just merely rotating his wrist slightly and remaining on that constant level, he clenched a fist- and watched as the angel's brilliant blue eyes lit up in a flash of agony. _

Someone had caught him and was holding him up, peering into his face and he blinked to bring his vision into focus. "It's alright, Sammy." Ruby draped a long arm over her shoulder and tried to pull him along with her, but he wouldn't budge; she narrowed her eyes at him. Sam's sweat-slicked hair clung to his face, chocolate strands against chalky skin and his foggy brown eyes were large, haunted almost; too dark in his wan face. "What is it? Do you need it now?"

He stared at her, this girl who was staring back at him and speaking to him with such familiarity and he could smell it, the blood that slid through the tubes under her smooth skin and his stomach turned over again. Sam tried to breathe normally but couldn't, he could still feel the remnants of whatever he'd left behind in that room clinging to his skin and cloying his senses and here was this demon whose eyes were too dark, smile too seductive and voice too smooth and too sweet. _Get out…I have to get away._

With great effort he pushed away from Ruby's grasp and moved unsteadily up the stairs, feeling for his way like a man suddenly struck blind and all he knew was that he had to get away from whatever was in the glass room, from whatever had transpired back there because even though he had no memory of anything, he knew it felt wrong. In all honesty though, as the fog began to lift with the first few gulps of clean oxygen above ground, Sam knew that there was a part of him that didn't want to remember.

* * *

The unwavering stare unnerved him and he tried to ignore the piercing stare that was threatening to bore a hole through the side of his skull. Dean sat on the bed, determinedly keeping his eyes on the strips of bandages he was rolling carefully around his bicep. Blood soaked through the gauze and he passed the cloth around his arm again, sneaking a brief glance at the angel standing ramrod straight near the window.

Gabriel hadn't budged an inch.

The hunter finished tying the gauze neatly and directed his gaze to the far wall, focusing on a dent in the wall where the builders must have gotten lazy and let the tool slip, only for the imperfection to be highlighted by the wallpaper meant to cover it up. Silence reigned supreme in the motel room. Outside, a siren wailed and Dean shifted uncomfortably, waiting for something to happen. _Geez, you angels really have no idea about the concept of privacy, do you? _

"If you're waiting for some outward sign of gratitude, I have to tell you that there's a waiting list," he said with an air of nonchalance, getting off of the bed and reaching for the ice cold Pepsi he'd gotten from the vending machine outside. "I'm still assembling gift baskets for Cas and Uriel. 'fraid you're going to have to get in line. Hunters don't get paid all that well, you know."

The archangel didn't respond, only pinched his lips together in a thin, tight line and turned his head, focusing his stare now at something out the window. Dean raised an eyebrow, wincing slightly as he pressed the cold can of sugary, caramel flavored, carbonated water against his left arm. _Apparently this one has no sense of humor either._

Castiel had laughed once, and it wasn't a chortle filled with mockery like Uriel's nor was it like Anna's breathy twitter that now when he thought back upon it, held more ridicule and artificial feeling than he cared to acknowledge. No, it had been a smile that made the angel's blue eyes crinkle with good humor even as they squinted in the sunlight, accompanied by a small chuckle- barely audible, but still genuine. What had he said to make the usually somber self-proclaimed warrior of the Lord drop his soldierly demeanor and crack a grin? _Something or other about following orders, the witch that we had to deal with around Halloween of last year, and the Tet Offensive._ Honestly, he hadn't even known that Cas knew or cared about the Vietnam War.

For some reason, just thinking about the one whose handprint had been permanently branded on his arm and was now acting all sorts of crazy made a frown crease Dean's brow. There was a sudden sour taste in his mouth, as if something he'd said didn't agree with having been uttered and he cleared his throat. "I take it you're gonna stand there all night until I somehow figure out why you're here."

Gabriel said nothing thought Dean saw the archangel's Adam's apple move up and down as if he was swallowing hard but the hunter brushed that possibility aside as being absurd. Archangels didn't feel that deeply, they didn't have to swallow down lumps in their throats to make sure they could speak without choking on their anger, sorrow, or fear. The other's eyes were more silver than green in the moonlight, shades of cold slate flecked with glints of hardened jade.

Dean was suddenly swept by a wave of annoyance. Who the hell did this angel think he was, appearing without announcement and dropping in whenever he saw fit, and choosing to administer the silent treatment? _I'm not in the mood for guessing games tonight._ "Look," he started angrily, "you can either tell me what you want or get the hell out of here. Sam's still missing and I don't have time for your little mind games-"

"They've taken Castiel." Dean stopped short.

"What?"

The archangel turned to face him, features seeming tighter than before, almost mask-like, like he was trying to hold something back behind that blank face. "The demons have him again."

Dean's response was a combination of sleepless nights, anxiety, and that cold fear he could feel gnawing away at his gut, but his response sounded harsh even to his own ears as it the words rattled on out of his mouth. "Again, huh?" The hunter scoffed, shaking his head. "Well that's real unbelievable, isn't it? The thought of Cas being kidnapped and having to send someone to save him. Never thought that would happen."

He should've stopped right then and there, should've been ashamed at what he was saying or at the very least cowed by the way Gabriel's eyes were narrowing, but Dean was too far gone to care. "What I can't figure out," he said carelessly, "is just why he's so important. I mean, what's the use of a holy tax accountant who can't even manage a damn devil's trap? Oh yeah, real intimidating soldier there, he who couldn't win a fight against a demon to save his life and having to have a _mudmonkey_ come to the-"

Silver-green eyes blazed with all the wrath of Heaven, cold as glacial waters and stripping away every last defense manageable by human efforts, shooting straight past flesh, bone, mind, will, and strength deep to the core to scorch their message of unadulterated outrage. Dean stumbled back from Gabriel who was an inch away from him, falling on his ass and as he sat there, looking up at one seriously pissed off archangel; the only thing running through his mind was the fact that apparently, angels had no sense of personal space, either. _Cas tried that once…_ his brain intoned absently. _Except he put in the threat of tossing me back into Hell for good measure._

"I warned you against speaking of my brother in such a manner," Gabriel said in a low voice of terrifying calm that seemed to echo in the small room and reminded Dean of the first time the messenger angel had told him to watch his tongue and he found himself unconsciously scooting away as the other took one step forward, leaning down. "_You,_ Dean Winchester, are the reason the demons have been targeting Castiel with such specificity and it is at _your_ brother's hands that _mine_ is suffering in agony."

His mouth fell open, but he couldn't even manage to emit anything other than an odd croak; no vehement denial came from his throat because the image of Gabriel's rather intimidating frame standing above him was vanishing and all Dean could see was Sam's brown eyes shimmering yellow as his brother lifted his hand with a malicious grin, closing fingers that were dripping crimson into a deadly fist.

* * *

"Well, would you look at that," Belial murmured to no one in particular, a smirk uplifting the corners of his lips into what would have been a handsome, rakish smile on Mason Todd's face- if not for the gleam of undisguised lust that shone through and made clear the demon's intentions as he approached the room's only other occupant. "It's just you and me now, dear _Cas_."

The angel's head was lolling down limply, eyes shut and unresponsive. Belial simply stood there for a moment, appreciating the way the dark eyelashes lay against alabaster skin like drops of oil on marble. Presently the demon let his eyes sweep over the other's body, over the mass of lacerations building layer upon layer, the tiny streams of crimson trickling across bruised skin. _Oh, I do believe you are the most alluring prize I have ever captured, my angel._

He reached out with one hand, stopped abruptly and frowned. _While that Winchester knows how to carve a masterpiece, he certainly makes a mess._ Belial withdrew his handkerchief and, grasping Castiel's chin in one hand, lifted the angel's head and wiping away the blood as he had done now twice before. He was a demon, but unlike many others of his kind, he was civilized enough to adhere to certain…_traditions_. Some preferred to call such rituals fetishes, but Belial shook his head, smirk growing. He knew what worked for him, what made the fire behind his belly ignite and just gazing upon this angel was enough to make the flames augment into a raging inferno.

There would be no viciousness in the taking, no brutality. Belial refolded the handkerchief, which by had turned crimson with only a few spots of unstained white cloth, and replaced it within his pocket. _This one, he's strong enough for me to have my way, but too fragile to tear apart like primitive savages._ As the demon removed his double-breasted pinstripe jacket, he thought back upon how recklessly Alastair had torn the angel apart down in Hell and he sighed, laying the jacket across the back of a chair, shaking his head at the complete lack of respect the late demon had for priceless art.

"I will have you this time," Belial murmured, trailing a finger down along Castiel's jaw and playing over the angel's lips, down his raw and reddened neck, across the collarbone. The demon chuckled when the dark eyelashes fluttered and exhausted sapphire orbs fixed on his, fear shining in their bottomless depths. "Let's play, shall we?"

Castiel turned his face away, soul crying out in despair at what was to come. _For I endure scorn for your sake, and shame covers my face…_ But how was it that God, the Father that he loved and served, was going to allow this? Was this righteous? The demon's hands wandered even further and the angel closed his eyes in anguish. Was this just?

_Father…_ There was nothing else to pray, only a heartfelt plea for mercy from above. _Save your servant._

_

* * *

_

It was clear to the passerby that the truck was old and a bit unreliable at best and downright a piece of shit at its worst but at least it had windows and a radio that could blast music loud enough to deafen one for a week. That's exactly what the man sitting inside seemed to be wanting to do, for there he sat in the driver's seat, staring straight ahead and with no indication of starting the ignition- simply sitting and staring as the notes and words of some obscure rock song pounded out around him and made the old truck tremble.

"_That's bullshit." His throat was hoarse, this voice brittle, and his words weak and unconvincing. "I don't believe it."_

"_You may not have any faith, but would you deny what you have already seen?" Gabriel's back was turned toward him but Dean reeled backwards as if the archangel had just slugged him in the stomach. Cold fear made itself known in the sudden dryness of his mouth and the hunter's jaw clenched tight as he realized that the vision he had seen was no vision at all, that Cas's handprint was burning for a reason, that the angel was being tortured by none other than Dean's own brother that he promised their father and swore to himself he would protect. _

"_I suggest you go and put an end to your brother's actions now, while you still have the chance." _

_The archangel spoke and the words were like daggers, shredding Dean's façade of disbelief into a heap of guilt. Cas had already warned him that Sam was heading down a "dangerous path"…but he hadn't done enough to make sure his pain in the ass little brother wasn't going darkside, hadn't wanted to look the truth straight in the eye. And now it was Cas that had to pay the price for his inaction, it was the steadfast angel who'd only ever shown the Winchester brothers compassion and understanding that had to suffer the consequences of every terrible decision either of them made. _

_Wanting nothing more than to smash his head against the wall-repeatedly- for his own stupidity, Dean glanced up and caught glimpse of Gabriel gazing off into the distance. He knew what was about to happen and instantaneous anger bubbled up in his chest and burst out in the form of a near shout. "Where the hell are you going? Aren't you going to help Cas?"_

"_There are more…important matters at hand." Was the archangel's vague reply before he disappeared, leaving Dean gazing open-mouthed at nothing as the dull roaring in his ears grew louder and louder._

Emerald eyes blinked furiously at the hot moisture welling up and then two clenched fists hit the dashboard, hard. "SON OF A BITCH!" Dean hollered above the music, above Gabriel's last words that the heavy metal couldn't seem to drown out and just for the sake of trying to see if yelling at the top of his lungs would somehow diminish the frustration, anger, and shame that was threatening to swallow him whole.

He wasn't surprised when it didn't.

_Sammy…how could you? How could I let you?_

Leaning his head against his forearms, Dean clutched the steering wheel as if it was the only comfort in a world turned upside down and shaken helter-skelter. He closed his eyes tightly, but it was no use- the tears flowed away, running down his cheeks and he cried, unashamed.

_A/N: Scripture verses used in this chapter were Psalm 34:21-22 and Psalm 69:7. I am…very nervous about what all of you might have to say about this chapter, especially because of what every single character is going through, especially Castiel. Trust me, that was not easy to write, so some feedback would mean a lot! Please review! _


	7. Delirium

_A/N: I am just plain spoiled rotten! You guys are absolutely wonderful. Thank you for your suggestions; I'll take them into consideration. __**Warning!**__ This chapter is going to be explicit, but I hope it's still enjoyable! _

_Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its affiliates belong to Eric Kripke._

Though much has been discovered throughout the history of time about the creatures that God favored and gave dominion to above all others, one revelation that had held true through eons of trials was that only the hands of man could manufacture true horrors. Savagery and brutality could be conjured up by the imagination and seen by the mind's eye; the tongue remained the only object in the world that could grow sharper with use and when uncontrolled, could cut and wound in irreparable ways. However, while fantasy aroused and eloquent speech flowed, it was solely in his hands that man held the power to create and cultivate. But the skill he grew most adept at was that of extermination and destruction.

These specific hands were well-cared for, and almost obsessively so. The nails were cut to the perfect length and complimented by trimmed cuticles. The skin was soft, having been moisturized by only the finest hand lotion that combined the wonders of shea butter, coconut, and almond extract. Here were hands whose knuckles bore no telltale scars of fistfights, no calluses indicative of hard work or even any imperfections in the whorls of the fingerprints- but as they ghosted across his vessel's skin, Castiel could only comprehend that these were the hands of pure evil and unparalleled depravity.

"Has anyone ever told you, Cas, how utterly exquisite you are?" Belial stood back for a moment and unfastened the gold-colored cuff links of his shirt, neatly rolling up both shirtsleeves but not once taking his eyes from the angel's face. The demon turned back to the other, greedily drinking in the sight of the torn and abused flesh. "You truly a work of art, my dear angel."

Castiel clenched his jaw and tried to mask the cold feeling of dread swelling in the pit of his stomach and making the blood drain from his face. _Father, I humbly beseech You… do not let the enemy torment your servant thus._ As a soldier of the Lord, he could handle pain and had faced many a perilous situation before- but this time, he could not disguise the emotion he now recognized as pure terror as it spread its icy tendrils across his entire form.

_I must not waver in my resolve; I must rely on the strength of the Almighty._ But God was not here; he could feel nothing but the presence of immorality and malicious intent, of lust and depravity all manifested in the approaching demon-possessed young man. A shudder wracked his already weakened frame and the angel flinched away when Belial reached out with one deceptively clean hand to rest upon his cheek.

"What's this?" the demon drawled, with a tone of mock surprise. "Not enjoying my company?" He slid his fingers slowly, millimeter by millimeter down Castiel's face, rubbing the pad of his thumb at the corner of cracked and split lips that were evidence of dehydration. "Mason Todd took the time out of his busy schedule just to be down here with you," Belial said softly, stroking the angel's face. "Why don't we put this time to good use?"

Angels did not plead for mercy from those that had fallen; warriors of Heaven did not surrender to the enemy and Castiel swallowed hard, trying to dissociate himself from the filthy caress. "Unclean creature of perdition," he wheezed out around the agony of his broken ribs. It was nearly impossible to breathe and speak at the same time due to the multiple injuries marring his body, but the angel locked eyes with the demon, voice seemingly dropping an octave lower with his next words. "May Almighty God damn your corrupted soul into the eternal fire…"

The next moment, Castiel stiffened, lungs straining against their broken framework and his fingers curled into fists; he was shaking, trembling in anger, disgust, and dread as Belial pressed up against his hurting body. But most of all, he shook with the humiliation that was slowly coloring his face red and boring a hole through his soul. _O Lord, Strike down thine enemy who seeks to defile that which is righteous. _

But was it possible to consider himself righteous anymore, after being sullied by the hands that wandered over his body, the foul hands of Hell's minion that sought to break his will?

"The eternal fire, hmm?" Belial growled huskily, breath hot upon the angel's ear. "I was _born_ of the flames, Castiel. Do _you_ remember Hell?" He could feel the angel's sides heaving with each painful breath and the demon smirked, leaning in closer so that his lips were touching Castiel's ear. "Do you remember what they did you to there, how they tore you apart from top to bottom, shredding to pieces all that was in between…all the _ripping_, and the carving-surely you haven't forgotten already?"

Castiel's eyes flew shut and his head snapped to the side in a futile attempt to distance himself from the haunting words and the memories they evoked. _How they tore you apart from top to bottom…_ He remembered alright, and Belial could see that he did. "Things are different now; Alastair is gone. And believe me," he murmured, "I will make _certain_ that you remember what _I_ do to you."

"I will not submit to your sinful perversions." It was a feeble declaration, made by a voice hoarse with pain and exhaustion.

_We'll see, now will we not_? Belial twisted his fingers in dark brown locks made stiff by blood and jerked his victim's head back harshly, exposing the angel's throat. He leaned in close, tongue darting out and trailing a path from the jaw and over the laryngeal prominence, down toward the jugular vein where Castiel's pulse was thrumming double time. He tasted sweat and inhaled fear; a smirk curved his mouth. _Delicious._

There was a sharp hissing breath and then the angel made a jerking motion with his head and Belial glanced up. "None of that now," he said in a sing-song tone, grabbing the finely-sculpted jaw and turning Castiel's face back toward him. "Look at me."

The angel had chosen quite an impressive meat puppet to inhabit but that was not what aroused the demon the most; it wasn't the suit that was made Belial's loins explode in heat- no, it was those breathtaking sapphire eyes. Here, within his seal drawn in his blood, he held ultimate power and so Belial reached out with his mind, meeting the crumbling wall of the angel's will and with one mental shove, forced open Castiel's tortured eyes. _Ah, there they are._

"I want to see it when you break, Castiel," the demon purred._ I want to taste your pleas for mercy in your tears, so cry for me, my angel. Beg and scream my name._ Belial's fingers ground into the torn flesh, against displaced ribs and the fire of arousal in his belly swelled as yet another layer of the weakening defense in those ravishing blue eyes fell to pieces.

* * *

Bile rose up in the back of his throat and Sam could feel the heat rushing to his face; he felt sick with disgust and another sour feeling that made his belly turn rebelliously. Shocked dark brown eyes stared out of his pale face, taking in the disturbing scene on the other side of the glass wall and he involuntarily shuddered at Belial's revolting actions.

_His fist rocketed forward, knuckles meeting flesh and he could feel a grin stretching across his features as he felt the cartilage snapping and giving way to the blow. It only fueled the power streaming through his veins; there was no longer any anger in his actions, he pummeled the other now just to feel his hands warming with spilt blood, just because he could. _

The pain lanced through his temples like a hot iron spike and Sam clutched his head, bending over and squeezing his eyes tightly shut-

_There were those damn cow eyes again, except the ones that gazed entreatingly at him were a brilliant blue and he wanted nothing more than to gouge them out of the other's bruised face because his blood boiled at seeing not hate shining out at him but infinite pity. He hefted the crowbar up over his shoulder and swung it like a baseball bat, the downward arc stopping when it met a kneecap; a loud crunching sound filled the entire cell and the eyes disappeared._

Sam bit the inside of his cheek to muffle the howl of an unidentifiable emotion that was swirling around in the darkest corners of his mind as the memories surfaced, having been yanked up from behind a veil of secrets and what he knew he was better off not knowing at all.

"_Had enough?" It was a taunt, a mocking rhetorical question, and he sneered as he placed the tip of Lucifer's Sword under his victim's chin and lifted the heavy head. _

_Castiel's voice was rough; his throat raw from having to hold back the pain but his words were simple, gentle. "The Lord forgives you for you have done, Samuel. As do I."_

_Instantaneous rage exploded in Sam's skull and he brought the blade he held up sharply, opening up a new laceration across the angel's chest. "I don't need your God's forgiveness or redemption," he hissed. "If I were you, I'd start praying to him for salvation yourself." Crossing over to the door, he flung it wide open, letting in the unseen paws that pounded the floor, allowing the snarling hellhounds to charge toward their prey. _

His mouth was an open cavern; his fingernails were dug so deep into his temples that they were drawing blood and Sam knelt there in the darkness, surrounded by glass and metal but only swallowed up by the black guilt that came with the realization of all that he had done. _Oh God… _Hot tears welled up in his eyes and threatened to choke him. He stared in disbelief at his own hands, the hands that had shed the blood of an angel. _What have I done?!_

_

* * *

_

_How much more, Father? How much more must I endure?_ Castiel strained against the assault, already denied the minimal relief of not having to visibly endure the demon's bestial intentions and he could sense Belial's power over him; the heaviness against his body augmented tenfold in certain places and as did the angel's indignity.

The whites of the demon's rolled back eyes bored into his own and Belial sneered lewdly, digging his fingers into wounds that were still fresh, slitting nails underneath the skin to peel it away from the muscle beneath. "Oh the wonders of the human anatomy," he mused thoughtfully as he shifted, stepping so that one of his legs was now positioned in between the bound angel's. "Why shouldn't we fulfill your loving Father's command to join together and become _one flesh_?"

_Do not heed the demon's words. He attempts to pervert the word of God. _His vessel's sympathetic nervous system was kicking into overdrive though, flooding his body with the hormones that demanded a fight or flight response. Castiel became aware of the uncontrollable trembling of his bound limbs as his damaged and restrained vessel prompted the epinephrine to manifest itself in other ways. What little feeling he had left began to register an unbearable tingling sensation; his heart began to palpitate wildly within his chest as hyperventilation set in, making his lungs scrape against the rough edges of fractured bone and pulling a groan of anguish from his throat- the first vocalization of pain the angel had given since the torture began nearly a week ago.

"_Yes…_" Belial hissed in pleasure, reveling in the low, inarticulate sound of pain and despair. Gripping Castiel by the back of the neck with a hand sticky with the angel's own blood, the demon crushed himself against the trembling frame, eliciting another cry of suffering as he ground his hips forward with sadistic and erotic delight.

There were tears now, unwanted yet uncontrollable moisture welling up in Castiel's eyes partially from having them forced open for so long but also due to the undeniable fact that if Belial's goal was to break the angel's will, then the demon was perilously close to its achievement. _My disgrace is before me all day long, and my face is covered with shame._ "No," Castiel whispered aloud brokenly, but there was nothing except for the demon biting down hard upon the sensitive point behind his jaw, hands wandering slowly down his torso and toward the catches of already torn trousers dyed crimson by his blood.

_Father!_ The angel tried to shriek aloud to the skies beyond the glass confinements but all that slipped past cracked and split lips was a desperate, barely audible sob. Castiel felt all that he was, dissipating; his dignity stripped away, his power now useless and his faith…even his faith glimmered weaker-

_Bzzz. Bzzzzzzz._

Belial broke away from the angel's sweetness, a deep frown distorting his features at the sudden and unwelcome interruption. _This time girl, you are going to get 'fired' for your intrusion!_ The demon calmly retrieved the vibrating Blackberry from the jacket he'd removed earlier and answered the call in a voice that was just as dangerously placid. "My dear, _sweet_ Nancy, just what part about 'no interruptions' is too difficult for your Harvard educated mind to comprehend?"

"_But sir, there's a man here to see you."_

"I couldn't care less if the bloody President himself was knocking at my front door; I thought I made it quite clear that-"

"_But sir!"_ The personal assistant sounded frantic and before Belial had the chance to marvel at the audacity she had to cut him off, she continued rambling on. _"He says that you should have known that he was coming and called himself 'an emissary from beyond'. Should I notify security?"_

_Ah. Come to check up on your brother, haven't you old sport?_ Belial cast a glance over at Castiel who hung heavy against his restraints. "I'll be right up." The demon pressed the end button on the cell phone and replaced the device, unrolling his sleeves and shrugging on the jacket to hide the bloodstains he'd received from inflicting torment upon his victim. "One must look the best for an angel, after all," he smirked, sauntering out of the cell, stealing another caress before he left.

Castiel's eyes were now closed and his chest was barely moving. The only movement in the cell that was suddenly still as the rigor of a corpse was the one tear that slipped past their wrecked defenses to cut a path through the blood and invisible grime left behind by the demon's filthy touch.

_Even if I am innocent, I cannot lift my head, for I am full of shame and drowned in my affliction._

_

* * *

_

Nancy stood as still as she possibly could, clutching Mr. Todd's agenda to her chest as if it could protect her as she shot another nervous glance at the man in the dark suit who stood to the side, hands clasped behind his back as he stared out the window. There was something about him that unnerved her to say the least; his demeanor was even stranger than the seemingly new attitude shift her boss had taken lately.

"That will be all Nancy, you may go." Here was the man himself, striding forward purposefully with an air of unmistakable authority that had the power to captive nearly anyone. With a reply that could only be described as a squeak, the personal assistant bobbed her head and scampered away.

"What is his status?" Uriel spoke to the window, without turning around and Belial sat down in a nearby leather armchair, leaning back comfortably.

"He's a lovely display, really. How about a private showing?"

The angel turned; displeasure flitting across his features. "He has not been converted yet?" He took in the demon's relaxed posture and displeasure shifted into repugnance at the overwhelming smell of blood that hung around Belial's person. "You've been given more than adequate time."

"'Tis an intricate process old sport," Belial replied flippantly, languidly crossing one leg over the other. He reached for a Cuban cigar, turning the rolled cylinder of tobacco leaves over and over his fingers, from knuckle to knuckle. "What's the rush?"

"Castiel's will is stronger than I imagined," Uriel muttered under his breath. "This has taken longer than I expected. Others have already begun to question as to what became of him."

"Gabriel, hmm?" The demon inhaled deeply and blew out a dignified ring of smoke. "Protective mother hen, that one. Not too bad on the eyes either, but far too stiff for my tastes." Belial noted the tightening muscles on the other's face and chuckled nastily for he knew exactly what was going through the angel's mind. "And are _you_ prepared to deal with the most fearsome wrath of Heaven once the messenger who sits at God's left hand finds out what you've done to his little brother?"

Uriel shifted his weight, deciding. "He must be ended today." Reaching into his suit pocket, the angel drew forth a device that looked almost comically small in his large hands, but deadly all the same.

Belial's eyebrows arched in interest and a sinister smirk formed on Mason Todd's handsome visage; he took another long draw on the cigar. "Well now old sport, I must admit that I do like the way your mind works…"

* * *

He retched, dry heaving as he tried to expunge all that he had done, all the memories that were flooding back into his mind, fresh as ever; the unwanted shreds of all that he had done while under the influence of what he thought would make him stronger. It was clear to him now that there had been nothing in it for him all along, that harming Castiel wasn't going to make Dean any better and Sam groaned, head pounding. Where was his brother anyway? _And where am I?_

A small, feminine hand landed on his back, rubbing across the tense muscles soothingly- and he jerked back. Sam threw his hand out blindly, reeling aside and grabbling at thin air, fingers closing around Ruby's wrist; he felt the rough edges of broken skin underneath his digits. Sucking in a lungful of air, the younger Winchester raised his head like an angry bull, eyes burning and nostrils flaring-

"Did you know?!"

Ruby gazed at him coolly. "About…what?"

He couldn't take the picture of bewilderment on her face; it wasn't shock or anger, there was no inkling of the guilt that he felt and he couldn't stand it. He needed someone to take on at least a portion of the black burden weighing down on his soul and so he grabbed the sides of her face, not caring how aggressive the action seemed. "About _what_?! This!" Sam waved a hand down along the length of the hallway and the glass cage that lay beyond the bend of the corridor. "About what's been going on this whole damn time!"

"Yes." Her dark eyes bored into his. "And so did you."

"No." Throat tight, Sam shook his head hard, pushing her away, utterly disgusted- at himself more than at her, at what he had done. "That's a lie." _But it's not,_ a little voice in the back of his head hollered, sounding suspiciously like… _like Dean._ "You…" Something was wrapping iron bands around his chest, squeezing his lungs in a vise-like grip, preventing speech. "You've been using me, you manipulative-"

"_You_ were the one who wanted it, Sammy-"

"Don't-" He clenched a fist and banged it against the metal-plated walls. _Don't call me 'Sammy'. _"Not anymore."

The demon's eyebrows arched. "What?"

"I don't want it anymore. I'm going to make things right."

"Oh?" Ruby challenged, moving and planting herself right in his path. "And how are you going to do that? What, are you going to release the angel and let him go back to Heaven just to have him come down again to smite you and order Dean around like his bitch on a leash-"

He shoved her aside, tuning her words out of his ears and heading down the hall, leaving the demon alone under the dim lighting in the middle of the hallway, powerless to stop him with either words or her blood. "_Sam!"_ Ruby's face darkened when he didn't heed her call, didn't even so much as allow a stutter in his step.

She was losing him.

* * *

"Good evening, brother." Castiel recognized the voice but didn't lift his head, didn't open his eyes or given any indication that he acknowledged the presence of the new arrival. He heard the familiar footsteps venturing closer and there was a heavy sigh. "And look how the mighty have fallen." Uriel began to circle the seal and the other locked within it, thoughtfully observing the damage that had been done to the other angel. "_Your own conduct and actions have brought this upon you,"_ he quoted aloud, seeking a reaction. "_This is your punishment._"

Castiel seemed to stiffen at the blatant perversion of scripture and then there was a dry, raspy voice issuing out from his mouth. "_Save me, O Lord, from lying lips and from deceitful tongues._ _What will He do to you, and what more besides, O deceitful tongue_?"

"I told you Castiel, my work is conversion." Uriel stopped directly in front of the beaten angel. "Will you still not join me?" There was no response and he sighed, nodding to Belial who stepped forward, rolling up his sleeve, a wicked grin lighting up the demon's features. "You force my hand, brother. I had hoped that it would not come to this."

There was something about the way Uriel uttered those words that made it sound like a final statement, an ultimatum with deadly implications and sudden alarm made Castiel raise his head, eyes snapping open to see a needle stuck in Belial's wrist. The piston pump was being pulled back in a near meticulous fashion, drawing out a 12-milliliter tube of blood and for the first time, unmistakable horror painted its colors across Castiel's features.

Belial growled in carnal pleasure upon seeing the terror in the already weary-stricken eyes. "How would you like to feel me _inside _you, Cas?"

"No," Castiel gasped, voice filled with terror. "Uriel, brother, _please_-" _Father in Heaven, I BEG of you; do not allow this! _Uriel's hand reached out and grabbed his jaw, forcing his head back and exposing the jugular vein and the angel's eyes were fixed on the needle that came closer; suddenly though, they caught glimpse of the horrified brown gaze beyond a pane of glass.

Sam's limbs were slack, his mouth agape as absolutely shattered blue eyes met his, raw with the scrape of betrayal, pupils dilated in unmasked fear. Something in his heart clenched tight and then fell to pieces right then and there. His knees grew weak and the hunter didn't even have the presence of mind to mull in shock over Uriel's role as the traitor or wonder how he was stepping inside the seal drawn on the floor in demon blood; there was only the pointed, hollow end of the needle piercing flesh and Uriel's thumb pushing down against the pump-

He fell to his knees, clasping his hands over his ears as the cry through the two-inch thick panel of supposedly soundproof glass to echo along the empty halls but couldn't block it out and Sam knew he would hear it ringing out in his mind for the rest of his life and perhaps even into eternity…

An angel's haunting, heartbreaking scream of utter agony.

* * *

Flames erupted without warning, engulfing the entirety of his left arm but there was no time to comprehend the cause because the pain suddenly tripled, then grew tenfold, a hundredfold, a thousand-

_GODDAMN!_

The truck jerked wildly and swerved off the road, slamming headfirst into a pile of cinder blocks lying in a heap, leftover from ongoing construction. Steam rose from the damaged engine but the driver paid no attention to the vehicle as shaking hands scrabbled for the handle; the door opened and the man literally fell out and onto the ground, curling in on himself, mouth wide open in a silent scream before the utterance was finally given a voice.

Then Dean howled aloud at the sky, unintelligibly because he hadn't the presence of mind to string together letters into words, let alone sentences. The scream torn from his throat wasn't his own and neither was the liquid fire shooting through his veins, making him writhe in torture against the gravelly surface beneath. No relief was imminent, no end, no way to make it stop because it was unlike anything he'd ever felt before; worse than death. Worse than Hell.

_Delirium_.

_A/N: I just love cliffhangers, don't you? :)_

_Scripture used in this chapter are Jeremiah 4:18, Psalm 120:1-3, Psalm 44:15, and Job 10:25._

_Reviews, please! You do want to find out what happens next, right? _


	8. Release

_A/N: I love you guys to bits and pieces. Thank you for all the awesome reviews! I am __**always**__ ecstatic to hear your opinions. Enjoy the chapter! _

_Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its affiliates belong to Eric Kripke._

From the beginnings of recorded history, predating the great civilization of the Egyptians and their ancient tradition of hieroglyphics which pioneered the art of writing, there had been tales told of the Great Flood that wiped out all mankind, the product of an vengeful God whose anger burned against the wicked people upon the Earth. Spanning as far back as the Babylonian Epic of Gilgamesh, the deluge myth, as labeled by skeptics and scientists, has nevertheless made an appearance in nearly every single religion man has since put faith into, every culture he has claimed to take part in.

The Indian Satyavata. The Grecian Ogyges. The Aztecan Nota. Christianity and Judaism's Noah and the Ark.

Nonbelievers and those who foolishly prided themselves on being men of reason with no time for empty headed notions concerning higher deities and fate pointed to the scientific evidence of the dynamics of moving glacier ice sheets signifying the end of the last Ice Age. They scratched their chins and threw around words like 'unlithified sediment' and 'bolide', claiming that yes, a comet or asteroid impact on a large glacier mass could have driven the ocean crust deeper and produced great rainfall.

Whatever explanation man decided to invent though, there were those who knew the truth, who had been there when God's sorrow at the iniquities of man turned into inconsolable rage, when the floodgates of Heaven opened wide and drowned the sin-filled world and nearly all within it.

The sky wasn't nearly as overcast or so filled with rain clouds as it had been that day many years ago, but there was the same stillness that settled over the land, from which writers drew the phrase 'the calm before the storm'. The feeling of the very earth holding its breath was the same- and as was Gabriel's countenance. The archangel who held dominion over the element of water had been the one who blew the trumpet to release the deluge at the Father's command, and the expression of grim neutrality on his face back then was identical as to the arrangement of his mien now, sitting there in the darkened chapel.

"_Where the HELL are you going? Aren't you going to help Cas?"_

Gabriel's smooth forehead wrinkled in a deep frown that knotted his brows together and the archangel laced his fingers together, eyes fixed upon the stained glass window's representation of the Holy Virgin and Child. There was no good reason that Dean Winchester's words should have been affecting one of Heaven's most formidable warriors this way, but the hunter's accusing words kept ringing out over and over in the archangel's ears, and as did his own cool reply.

"_There are more… important matters at hand."_

"You called for me, brother?" The gravelly voice rung out in the coldness of the shadows and only those examining Gabriel's features with the closest scrutiny would have noticed the hardening of the penetrating gaze and the startlingly human-like clenching of the jaw. Simultaneously, a deafening roll of thunder cracked in the heavens, resounding with a menacing air.

Uriel paused in the act of stepping out of the shadows, raising his eyes first to the sky that seemed to have grown ten shades darker in no time at all, and then to the archangel who still sat on the pew, chin lifted up and eyes set on the gold crucifix above the alter. "You're angry," he observed.

Gabriel stood, turning to face his brother. "There has just been something troubling me," he intoned with no emotion in his voice at all, moving slowly toward the other angel. The archangel was a being who always moved with an ethereal amount of elegance and grace, even when confined within the mortal limitations of a human vessel- and yet now, his movements seemed stiff, and rigid. Like he was trying hard to rein in something that would have otherwise burst forth, uncontrollable and implacable. "Where have you been since Alastair was vanquished, almost a fortnight ago?"

There was no answer as Uriel took note of the other's stance and the fact that Gabriel had not denied being angry, even though such a feeling was unusual, at best, for an archangel to be experiencing. In fact, the last time any of the celestial beings had seen God's messenger with even an inkling of emotion upon his face had been when Gabriel appeared in the Father's hallowed halls above, carrying in his arms the broken body of the younger brother that he'd always seemed to have a special compassionate affinity for.

"How long, Uriel?" Gabriel asked in a low, calm voice. "How long did you think you were going to get away with killing our kin?" The rhetorical inquiry was punctuated by the sounds of raindrops beginning to fall from the sky to patter noisily on the rooftop. "Were you of the mind that the Almighty bore no knowledge of your actions?"

Uriel's gaze strayed toward the floor, sorry for being caught- but by no means in guilt. Gabriel's eyes narrowed as he sensed the evil surrounding the one who'd once been his brother, but now had been tainted by the unclean powers of below. The archangel's throat tightened inexplicably with his next words but he gauged the other's reaction carefully. "Castiel has been missing since then as well."

Dark eyes lifted. "I have no knowledge of that affair."

A sharp clap of thunder sounded out from the weeping sky, accompanied by a brilliant flash of lightening that briefly lit up the interior of the dark chapel. Uriel's back was slammed against the far wall of the church, the archangel's arm against his throat- "You would _DARE_ to bear false witness in the Father's house?!" Gabriel's eyes were smoldering an incensed molten silver as the archangel raised a fist-

* * *

_FATHER!!_

Castiel's throat was raw from the scream he could not utter toward Heaven and the angel writhed in silent torment, senseless to the external world as the blood of the damned wound its way throughout his vessel, scorching the inner walls of arteries. It burned like the rush of a drug as his treacherous heart pumped all the more furiously, reaching a dangerous tachycardia as the internal plasma raced to overtake him.

_Be merciful to me, Lord…for I am…_ The angel's thoughts exploded in a flash of agony as the demon blood edged in deep within his essence, closing in on his grace and Castiel's back arched off and away from the frame he was bound to. As vultures and rodents stripped away the flesh of that which was dead for consumption, it was beginning to strike relentlessly at his grace and the angel groaned aloud at the corrosive evil set on warping one of the Lord's warriors into a servant for the Son of Perdition.

_Lord heal me, for my bones are in agony; my soul is in anguish!_ Voices jabbered in his mind, some in tongues even he could not comprehend and they gave him no rest; some screaming unintelligibly for dominance in his already tortured mind while others whispered their seduction, entreating him, tempting him to forgo all the suffering, to join _them_-

The angel convulsed horribly, face contorted in the internal struggle, the war that waged within him. Every inch of skin that remained covering his form was suddenly paper thin, ready to tear and disintegrate at the slightest nudge but something was spreading its unbearable weight over his body. It was burning his lungs, crushing his kidneys, rupturing the liver and slitting open the stomach like an overripe fruit.

The harder he tried to fight against the call of darkness though, the more the perversion burrowed deep into his essence, like acid, eating away at what little light and hope he held within his heart. _How long, O Lord, how long? _His soul shrieked against the depravity turning his blood vessels into transparent tubes of glass that shattered with his efforts as the demon blood moved throughout and underneath mortal flesh.

"_Come now Cas," Belial purred, affectionately pushing sweat-slicked dark brown tresses, now turned a dull copper color, away from the angel's forehead. "I __**know**__ that you're enjoying this as much as I am." The demon's hand dropped low, out of sight and Castiel's face flamed in shame; the angel tried to wrench away in revulsion and Belial chuckled; a low sound of mockery and perverse pleasure. "Where's Daddy now?" he challenged, nails digging into the back of his victim's neck and jerking their faces together to ravish the angel's mouth…_

Neurons fired but no comprehensible thoughts were being formed; he didn't know what was happening, what was real and what was merely the fabrications of his delusional mind. There was only the stickiness of blood and sweat, each internal organ being compressed to nothingness and the feel of his skin, flesh, bone giving way-

"_Join me, brother." Uriel's face was twisted beyond compare, flapping lips positioned somewhere above his left cheekbone and his one remaining eye rolled wildly in its socket. Thick black fluid oozed out of his mouth to splat noisily against the ground but he kept on advancing forward anyway, pearl white teeth shining out against the darkness and with the same words- "Join me!"- then his face was gone, replaced with that of a sneering demon's…_

Castiel thrashed wildly and the chains dug deep until vital fluid streaked down pale skin like crimson rivers. Blood vessels were snapping, threadlike as the world spun brightly in and out of focus in a kaleidoscope of sounds that he could actually see and colors that suddenly rung out their voices in his ears, ten thousand tongues all screeching out the same command-

"_Join us…"_

* * *

Dark eyes watched the angel's muscles contracting and twitching frame; the suffering, horror, and terror flitting across the haggard features, taking it all in without the least bit of pity. Without emotion.

"That's called hypersensitivity," a polished voice said, smooth as wine and twice as deadly as any venom known to man. "The pain receptors have been heightened to their most acute degree, drowning out any other mental of physical functions besides responding to it. See how he arches his neck, how nystagmus has begun to set in?" There was a hum of appreciation. "Ah, that's _beautiful_."

Ruby turned away from the sight of the angel in torment, lips pinched into a thin, tight line. "I don't care about your fantasies or whatever you want to do with him," she said curtly. "All I want is Sam." Her eyes grew hard upon casting a careless glance back at Castiel.

Belial's eyes were still fixed on the rather ghastly and horrifying sight on the other side of the glass wall, but his eyebrow arched at Ruby's firm declaration. "Is that so?" the superior demon murmured in interest, moving to unbutton the cuff links on his right sleeve. He'd changed since Uriel arrived and had spent the past few hours since then simply standing outside and watching the slow destruction of one of the soldiers of God. "And why is it that you fancy Winchester so?"

"I'm _not_ losing my Sammy to _him_."

"How exactly are you going to ensure such a result with this most unusual course of action?" Belial drawled almost lazily, unbuttoning his left sleeve and rolling that one up as well.

Ruby's eyes glinted. "I'll worry about that part."

For the first time then, Belial turned to look at the lesser demon, eyes rolling back to show nothing but white. "And why should I be willing to help you win back the affections of your pet?" It was a seemingly neutral question but beneath it lay dangerous undertones and Ruby paused, knowing she had to choose her next words carefully.

"Because you don't care about either one of us, you sadistic bastard. You're choosy about which prizes you want to have fun with yourself, but when it comes to everyone else, it's all just a game and you don't give a damn who it is you're exerting your power and dominance over."

A smirk crept its way over Mason Todd's face. "Smart girl," Belial said softly. Before Ruby had a chance to draw breath, her back was slamming into the glass wall behind her so hard that the entire panel cracked, with the superior demon's fingers locked around her throat and knuckles connecting with an eye and coloring it miraculous shades of purple and blue.

* * *

There was wetness against his face, cool wetness in a cloth pressed against the heat and he could feel something soft underneath him, could hear a voice murmuring words in a language he couldn't understand and Dean's nose wrinkled at the smell of… was it _grapefruit_? With effort, he pried his eyelids apart and blinked blearily, trying to make sense of where he was and what situation he'd landed himself in this time.

"Ah, estás despierto. Finalmente."

He squinted up at the fuzzy outline from where the rolling r's of the foreign language came from groggily, still not all there. _What was that? _Dean allowed cool hands to turn his head to the side, to push back his heavy eyelids; he grunted in annoyance at the funnel of bright light that was shone in each of his eyes. For the moment though, he was perfectly comfortable with staying in this state between unconsciousness and being fully awake; he relaxed and nearly missed the feeling of the hands on his left shoulder-

"_Christ!_" Jerking away with a wild flailing motion, Dean shot up straight into a seated position like tightly coiled piece of wire springing back into position and more or less tumbled off of the elevated surface he'd reclining on, swaying on his feet unsteadily clutching at his arm protectively, swaying.

"Easy now, Mr. Smith," came the voice again and then the slight figure was moving toward him slowly, small hands held out in a placating gesture. Shaking his head hard, the elder Winchester blinked again and saw a very familiar pair of dark brown eyes, nearly black, staring at him worriedly, cautiously out from a light brown face framed by a fall of dark hair. Marie took another careful step forward, speaking as if she would to a skittish animal. "I was just going to change the dressing on that wound."

"Where am I?" His tongue was heavy and the words were thick as they tumbled out of his mouth, clumsy. Sort of like his motor coordination. Dean wavered on his feet, grabbing at the wall for support. _Damn, double vision too. This isn't good._

"We're at a rest stop on the side of the interstate, about a quarter of a mile from where I found you." Marie spoke comfortingly, because eyes that were still too dilated for this man's own good were darting around everywhere with confusion, panic, and urgency in their green depths. "You should sit down; it appears that you've suffered a mild concussion and-"

"No." Dean finally located the door and lurched toward it, suddenly reminded of the blinding sensations that had felt like someone had been catching every inch of his skin onto hooks and then ripping them in every which opposite direction. _Cas._ That had to be it; that was the only explanation for the terrible pain and a flash of nervousness and anxiety flared up within him at trying to imagine what could've been causing the angel so much affliction. He couldn't sit still; he had to find Cas. Unfortunately, the door seemed to be curving inward to make a concave surface and bending away from his stumbling steps…

Marie heaved a sigh and grabbed the other's collar, easily dragging the man's six-foot frame away from the wall he was about to stagger into and dumped him rather ungracefully back down onto the cot. "You, sir, are in no condition to be up and moving about anywhere with that lump on the back of your head." Idly, she wondered where this Dean Smith was off to in such a hurry that it would be the first thing on his mind upon waking up after spending God knew how long crumpled in a heap on the interstate, hollering like he was being tortured.

"You don't get it." Dean tried to get to his feet again. "Someone I know is in trouble." _Yeah, that's putting it lightly. _His own words stopped him though. Which someone was he mentioning- Sam or Castiel?

"Yeah?" Marie took her fingers away from the man's throat, where she'd been checking his pulse. "And where might you be rushing off to, the same place you went after you ditched the hospital?" she asked sourly. "Pendejo," she muttered under her breath. _I'm __**still**__ on suspension without pay after that little stunt you pulled._ Her supervisor had gone absolutely nuts when he found her, apparently taking a nap with the patient gone and nowhere to be found.

Dean stared stupidly for a moment because even though he didn't understand a word of Spanish-well, he could get by with _holla_ or _tengo hambre_- he could tell by the nurse's tone that she'd probably just called him something rather unpleasant. He chose to ignore the insult for the time being though, and screwed up his face in concentration, trying to remember the address. "I have to get to 1016…_something_ Chestnut Estates…"

The Latina woman's eyebrows shot up. "Mason Todd's mansion? What business does someone like you have there?" _Are you some sort of stalker?_

"You know a billionaire?"

"Everyone at Mercy Heights knows Mr. Todd. He's one of the hospital's most generous benefactors, and he sits on our board of trustees." Marie cast a skeptical glance at this man who was obviously hiding something; she could tell it in the way his pulse had been thumping rapidly when she checked it, in the way he kept his hand over that bandage over his left bicep. "There was a gala thrown at his home to commemorate the anniversary of-"

"That's great," Dean interjected, getting to his feet again, slower this time to avoid toppling over like a stack of blocks when shoved by a child a play. "You have to take me there."

"Like hell I will," Marie shot back flatly, moving to block his path. "The only place you're going, Mr. Smith, is back to the hospital to get that skull of yours looked at and more than likely you'll be taking a trip to the psychiatric ward too."

He stared at this petite, strong, self-assured young woman who, despite her small stature, didn't seem like she would be easy to take down in a fight. There was a fierceness in the way she carried herself, in the way her dark brown eyes narrowed suspiciously at him and Dean backed down a bit, not too keen on having his ass handed to him by someone who weighed probably less than half of what he did. _Wonder how she got me all the way here from the side of the road anyhow._

But all the same, there was no time to lose. Castiel's handprint throbbed dully and he glanced at it, getting a bit nauseated when he saw the dark stains that had soaked through the bandages. Wordlessly, his eyes fell on the pendant that hung around Marie's neck that held some sort of Catholic significance. But would she understand if he tried to explain to her that he was en route to save the angel who had dragged him up out of Hell from his brother who had been infected with demon blood as a child? It was too much for even him to digest at times. _And I don't have anymore time._

"Fine," Dean said nonchalantly, sidestepping the nurse and moving toward the correct door this time. "I'll go myself, concussion and all." He pulled open the door and let the cool night air sweep over him, hoping all the while that he still remembered how to lay on the guilt trip. "I just hope you won't feel guilty tomorrow morning," he called carelessly over his shoulder. She was still standing there, arms crossed over her chest, giving him a stern yet mistrustful look. "You know, when you turn on the news tomorrow morning and see the breaking news story about me getting my head split open in some unfortunate accident and seeing my brains splattered across the interstate."

_Hijo do puta._ Marie's conscience was waging war against her better judgment and with a scowl and what she hoped was a glare that made Mr. Dean Smith shake in his boots, she grabbed the object sitting on the table next to her and lobbed it at him. "Vaya al infierno," she spat, stomping past him and outside.

Dean was pretty sure what she'd said that time and shook his head. _Been there and done that, lady._ He glanced down at the motorcycle helmet she'd thrown at him after glancing out at the black 2006 model Ducati, took a deep breath. _Hang on, Cas; you can get through whatever hell they're putting you through. You have to._

He didn't want to think though, about the prospects of 'they' meaning Sammy.

* * *

_I've got to get out of here._ Sam ran shaking hands through his hair, sitting down on the edge of the bed, for fear that his quaking legs would fail in their task of keeping him upright. _And I've got to get Cas out too._

He was still feeling the effects of the withdrawal from the demon blood, but at least he was thinking clearly. As the clarity returned however, as did the full wave of the memories and the horror of all that he'd inflicted upon the angel and he shuddered. _How am I going to explain this to Dean? _He didn't even know if Castiel was going to make it, after what he'd seen Belial's perverse actions and Uriel's ultimate act of betrayal.

"_How would you like to feel me inside you, Cas?"_

Sam's gut tightened at the demon's sly words as they replayed within his mind and he pushed the palms of his hands against his ears, trying to block out the heart-wrenching sound of Castiel's scream after the syringe had been emptied; he squeezed his eyes shut in a futile effort to chase away the image of how the angel's body had immediately gone into uncontrollable spasms which were painful to just watch. _How is an angel going to survive-_

"_Sammy!"_

His head snapped up at the wild scream and he stood, frowning because he had _never_ heard that voice uttering his name like that before and before he could fully comprehend what was happening, Ruby was bursting through the door and falling in a heap at his feet. "Ruby?" She was crying, and that alone scared the hell out of him and so Sam took to one knee. When he saw the state she was in though, hot anger stole his breathe away.

Distinct bruises in the shape of fingers made a necklace around her red and raw throat; her left leg stuck out at an odd angle and he could see spots of dark red against the dark denim of her jeans. Blood seeped out from a wound up near her dark hair, running down the side of her face and as Sam gathered the demon into his arms, she leaned against his sturdy frame- and the crimson liquid brushed from her forehead against his lips.

The release was like nothing he'd ever experienced before.

It was like a breath of fresh air after being buried underground, gulping precious oxygen into his lungs but this was far sweeter, far more satisfying to that hunger that lay buried deep within him and Sam's body exploded wave after wave of the power sliding down his throat and invigorating his limbs, making his anger for whoever did this to her blaze all the brighter, oh the _release_-

"Who did this to you?" It was a low, menacing hiss and she looked up.

"The angel."

_Yes, Sam. That's it. _Ruby could see the hard glint in his eyes, the thirst that was surely by now unquenchable beyond only what she could provide and a smirk rose to touch her lips as she saw Sam's features darkening with her answer and she offered up her wrist, with only one simple request:

"Break him, Sammy. Break him completely. For me."

_Yes._ He grabbed her slender wrist and tore into the source of that which he so desperately craved, what would haunt him until he satisfied the desire. All the previous feelings of guilt and repentance that had been hanging over his head like a dark cloud only moments prior were now gone, and replaced with invincibility and wrathful vengeance. Yes, he would do anything for her and he would break the angel that made her suffer; he would break the angel _**completely.

* * *

**_

Rain pounded out its rhythmic beat against the church's rooftop, slamming against the steeple and crashing against the magnificent stained glass windows in sheets, the tempo drowning out the sounds of what seemed to be a pseudo-war occurring inside. Thunder boomed out across the sky and blades of lightening dueled in the grey heavens, all proclaiming the wrath of an archangel of Heaven.

Inside the house of God, pews lay overturned, hymnals had been torn apart to scatter their loose pages everywhere and the golden crucifix had been knocked askew- in other words, it was no longer a scene of reverence or worship; it was a battleground of holy wrath.

Water swelled up like the crest of a wave and splashed against the walls and onto the floor as the dark-suited man was unceremoniously thrown in the baptistery, though not by any visible force or efforts. An eerily blank-faced young blonde man clothed in a white suit approached the sunken receptacle filled with water, something deadly written in the grim set to his jaw, in the way the shadows all angled away from his frame, as if darkness could not touch him-

"_Potestas Inferna, Me Confirma!"_

A hand wielding a silver blade shot up out of the water, swinging with deadly precision and what had once been a pristine, unpigmented suit became colored with a brilliant stripe of red across the abdominal area. Stunned at the sudden brutality and might of the other's hell-sent powers, Gabriel reeled backwards, feeling the evil of Lucifer's blade seeping into his vessel. A forceful telepathic shove caught the archangel off guard and he was thrust back and across the length of the chapel; there was a sickening squelching sound as a sharp point penetrated through cloth, skin and muscle-

Uriel rose up out of the pool of water, now fully armed with the powers of Hell- a mockery of the ordinance of baptism. A smirk twisted his features upon seeing the great and mighty messenger angel of the Lord, slumped against the wall with the pointed end of a crucifix skewering his vessel in between the shoulder blades and out through his chest. "Oh, what irony," he chortled aloud, approaching slowly, biding his time to savor his victory.

"You know, Gabriel, I must admit that I am slightly disappointed," the angel said condescendingly, admiring how the silver blade shone when stained with the crimson lifeblood of his brother. "Who would have known that Heaven's most terrifying weapon would fall to Lucifer's Sword?"

Painfully, though without a trace of any emotion in his frighteningly impassive face, Gabriel pulled himself off the icon. "If you wish to cross the blades of righteousness and evil," the archangel growled, speaking made difficult with the wound in his chest, "so be it, fallen one." He extended an arm up toward the raging skies, calling down a streak of lighting which broke through the ceiling of the church, sending down a shower of mortar and plaster. As the dust settled, there in the archangel's hand lay a magnificent sword, burnished brighter than the light of day and Gabriel advanced, regardless of the gaping hole in his vessel's chest.

All that suddenly, a tongue of holy fire forked down from the sky and Uriel found himself flung against the ground, pinned without hope of movement. He sneered up at the grey clouds, curling his lip up at the unseeable observer of the struggle. "You're too late," he cackled aloud, aiming the words directly toward Gabriel as the messenger angel stood above him. "It's not use, not anymore. Castiel's plight is irresolvable this time. Not even the Father would accept dear Cas back into His hallowed halls."

"You lie, fallen one. The Father is ever-merciful and always-"

"Fool!" Uriel spat harshly, and with a sinister, near maniacal grin. "Do you think Almighty God would welcome back an abomination?"

As the words echoed in the empty chapel, for the first time, Gabriel's face showed a hint of something vulnerable, a shred of fear. Uriel lay flat on his back, at the mercy of the blade of an archangel, but he was laughing. "Do you know how it feels, Gabriel? The blood of the unclean?" he mocked. "Now, your beloved little brother does."

The entire earth shook with the next clap of thunder and the fierce dance of lighting illuminated the night sky until it was nearly as clear as day, but neither were as fearsome as the pure wrath on Gabriel's face. The archangel's entire form was suddenly surrounded in the white light of holiness that blinded the eyes of mortals; his eyes were twin shafts of lighting streaking outward from his face and with an almighty roar, the archangel thrust the sword he held down into the traitor's throat, driving Uriel's vessel deep into the ground, until Heaven's sword itself could no longer be seen, buried up to the hilt and beyond.

_A/N: How was it? Epic enough of a battle between two angels? Angsty enough for what's happening to Castiel? Oh! And this is __**important**__: what's your feedback on the character of Marie? Please drop a review! _


	9. Revelations

_A/N: I'm sorry for the late update, but preparations for final exams are killing me. All your reviews are keeping me alive though! I hope this chapter is still up to par. Enjoy! _

_Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its affiliates belong to Eric Kripke._

The colorless, odorless, tasteless liquid was known to be the basis of the fluids of all living organisms, and had been hunted down, searched for and sought after throughout the ages even more fervently than oil. It was regarded as more valuable than all the precious metals man could ever hope to procure from the Earth's surface and down below. It was a plea issued from the lips of many a dying man and souls that wallowed in the depths of eternal damnation, this seemingly magical compound of hydrogen and oxygen that had the ability to prolong an existence or to end it.

Water.

Living organisms couldn't survive more than three days without that which archaic poets and literary masters referred to as "Adam's ale" but the fluid also bore the incredible power to destroy all that had previously been recipients of its wondrous gift of life. Water was a fickle element, really. Weathermen forecasted increasingly long seasons of drought only to be waving the red flag and issuing a national warning against flash floods or hurricanes the next day. Environmentalists railed against the wasteful usage of the nonrenewable resource and cities responded in turn by placing restrictions on when citizens would water their lawns, swim in pools, and take showers.

Yet with all that had been discovered and researched about this molecule whose structure took the form of Mickey Mouse's head when made into scientific models, there remained one puzzling and all encompassing mystery that no man of science could hypothesize the answer to, no poet could imagine. Along with all that ever been recorded about the highly distinctive chemical and physical properties, about its viscosity and curious ability to change into many other substances, science had proclaimed with confidence water's role as the universal solvent.

Strange though, how that could be true when anyone who'd ever shed tears knew that water was unable to dissolve a single milligram of the raw emotions that lay buried deep beneath where osmosis could take place.

At least it got those damn spots of blood out now, didn't it?

_But nothing else._ No, not the grief, anger, shame… nor the guilt.

Moisture wet Dean's face and he blinked rapidly to drive the water from clinging to his eyelashes; the beads slid down his cheeks like tears. The rain didn't so much as pound down upon the earth as it did ghost across all that resided upon it, brushing invisible droplets across the pavement, illuminated only as ephemeral mist by the pair of headlights shining out in the darkness before disappearing as if the weather were acting as some sort of physical manifestation of the turbulence swirling around within his mind.

How the hell was he supposed to save Castiel this time around? He hadn't the faintest clue if the angel was even at this mansion, and who was this Mason Todd anyway? Dean was sure that none of Sam's old friends included a billionaire, and-

_Goddamn it._ The chinstrap of the open-faced motorcycle helmet was digging into his throat and Dean stretched his neck a bit, trying to breathe. It was more denial than uncertainty gnawing away at his mind now, because Sam being at Mason Todd's place combined with Castiel's presence meant that the hallucination, vision, or whatever the hell that nightmarish sequence could be categorized as, was real. It had really been his pain in the ass little brother slowly crushing the life out of his helpless victim and the only reason Dean could possibly conjure up at the moment was that Sam had gone completely insane. After all, who in his right mind would willingly torment an angel, much less the one who'd already done so much for the Winchesters? _Unless…_

No. He didn't want to think about that option, the possibility that his little brother _had_ been in his right mind and what he'd done to Castiel was as a result of him letting go of all the good in himself and turning to that primitive, diabolical essence that lurked beneath the exterior. It was all he'd ever worked to keep away and buried deep out of sight, but it was never out of mind. Not for Dean, at least. But even after stewing upon the issue ever since he'd found out about it, he still had no idea what to do should his brother go completely darkside.

The world passed by in a stream of blurs and colors as the Ducati roared along the interstate and he squeezed his eyes shut, dizzy all of a sudden and beyond exhausted. _Is this how it's been all along? Is this how my life has been, passing me by with no hope for anything else?_

He was a hunter, and he was damn proud of it. An everyday hero, saving the day by blowing monsters away into oblivion and most of the time it didn't matter that he never got any recognition; all he had to do was remember back to those few times when John had come up to him after a successful hunt and given him a nod of approval or a pat on the shoulder. That was all he needed back then. Now though, he recognized the weak feeling settling down deep in his bones as weariness and a longing for something else.

Vampires weren't killed with wooden or silver stakes; you had to cut their heads off. Ghosts could be repelled by rock salt but to do away with them once and for all, there were remains lying around somewhere that had to be dug up and burned. Shapeshifters abhorred silver; headshots were what finished off ghouls and while most everyone knew demons hated holy water, they didn't know that the Catholic Church wasn't the be all ends all of dealing with all the sons of bitches that came from Hell.

He used to have all the answers. He _used_ to be damn proud of being a hunter.

That was back then. And now? _Hell if I know the answer to anything anymore. _Dean's arm throbbed dully and he cast a glance at it, reaching to peel away the bandages when the motorcycle's front wheel dipped into a pothole and he wavered, flinging an arm around the closest thing for support- Marie's waist. Without turning her head and with a motion swift as a rattlesnake, the young woman took one hand off the handlebars and gave his hand a fierce slap. Cowed, he retracted it.

_If you touch me again, I'm going to rip your arm off and beat you with it._ Marie groused mentally, revving the engine a few times just to project her frustration in a way that didn't involve turning around and giving the man behind her a piece of her mind since being on a moving bike didn't really make that option the wisest one.

What in the world was she doing anyway, driving this psycho to Mr. Todd's place? _You know his type. Demanding, mentally unstable, and willing to do anything and everything to fulfill some fantasy or right some imaginary wrong that he's conceptualized in that screwed up mind of his. _Oh, she knew his type alright and Marie swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing the painful memories away to focus on the fiasco at hand.

Not doing things this Dean Smith's way could lead to a dangerous situation for both of them, and it wasn't something she wanted to risk. _But of course following through with his demands could predictably mean difficult implications for Mr. Todd too._ She gripped the bike's handlebars and tossed her rain-dampened hair away from her face, deciding. _I can reason with him, after all he's in no condition to put up that great of a struggle if he does has a complete psychotic break, not with that concussion anyways... _The Ducati's headlights danced on the slick pavement as Marie slowly began to apply the brakes-

Suddenly the twin funnels of light glared against a white figure that stood in the middle of the road directly ahead, having appeared out of nowhere and Marie's eyes widened at the silver-white, feathery appendages she saw rising from the man's shoulder blades; she slammed hard on the brakes but felt the bike sliding out from under her control-

"_DIOS MÍO_!"

The Ducati skidded on the wet road and then, swerving and careening wildly, tilted and threw its riders like a bucking bronco, casting them in opposite directions to crash down against the hard pavement. Marie's shriek of alarm faded into the pattering of the rain against the motorcycle's upturned frame and smoking engine, against not two but three still figures lying on the ground.

* * *

The transparent, glassy surface looked like a mirror, reflecting the object held above it before the pane rippled, breaking and sending tendrils of crimson spiraling through the basin of water, insubstantial threads of ribbon winding in and throughout the fluid.

_And therefore Pilate took some water and washed his hands in front of the crowd, saying, "I am guiltless of the blood of this righteous one: see ye to it."_

Belial chuckled low in the back of his throat, wiping his hands clean and remembering the part he'd played in that apparently pivotal moment in history. The Roman governor had indeed been a crucial player; but on top of that, despite all old texts' recordings of Pontius Pilate ruling with an iron fist and dispensing justice accordingly, he was a weakling and an imbecile who looked to his own pride above everything else. And that was what made him such an easy target for the Lord of lust, arrogance, and of lies.

Pilate believed that simple act of washing his hands would rid him of the guilt of sentencing the Son of God to death, and he went to his grave believing that. Dear little Sammy Winchester believed that drinking demon blood would make him stronger, all the while refusing to come to terms with what he was capable of doing while under its influence.

_Those pitiful fools_.

He, on the other hand, knew truth from lies. Even though Belial spent time seeking out those too weak-minded to know or acknowledge the difference, he was intelligent enough to differentiate between the two. While Uriel chose to reclaim Lucifer's sword in a paranoid attempt to escape his brother's wrath, Belial knew that Gabriel was going to come after him and he knew full well, from previous encounters, the extent of an archangel's might.

_Coming for Castiel, hmm?_ The demon turned to survey the captive angel, watching those beautiful sapphire eyes rolling around wildly, panic flitting across the pained features at horrors that only he could see, torment that only he could experience. The blood set on a destructive collision course through his system was first and foremost stripping the nervous system of its glial cells, inhibiting neuron repair and wreaking havoc upon those still functioning. Castiel, who was afloat in a sea of delirium and unable to heal his vessel, was now just as mortal as any other of God's creations.

_Well now Gabriel, I think you'd better come quickly or else there's not going to be anything of your little brother left to salvage._ Belial licked his lips with a sadistic grin and shiver of carnal pleasure at the sight of the angel straining senselessly against the chains, imagining that bloody masterpiece beneath him, just _ripe_ for the taking._ After all… _Manicured fingers clenched tight around a silk handkerchief dyed red- _I do hate sharing._

Above ground, a tall figure appeared in the catalogue-esque kitchen, moving stealthily past the spotless stovetops, the marble countertops and the mahogany cabinets. Mason Todd rarely prepared food for himself here; there were more than enough top chefs nationwide all vying for a chance to prepare culinary wonders for the man who ironically, like any other workaholic billionaire, survived on a steady diet of caffeine and stress.

No matter, though. Like every other room in the mansion, the area was stocked with top of the line technology and equipment, a hybrid between the classical and the contemporary. A rather impressive array of knives hung on the wall, on display for all to see and the figure paused in front of the rows of cutting tools contemplatively. Dark eyes roamed over each and every blade critically and with precision before the man reached out and grabbed a large, stunning stainless steel carving knife. Having been custom-made, the instrument bore the finely unique distinction of being double-edged, with one straight blade and the other serrated.

_Let's see how this'll do._ A nefarious grin spread across the lower half of the young hunter's face. After all, he only needed a blade that could cut through the angel. He was capable of doing the breaking with his own bare hands.

* * *

_Oh…_ He groaned and tried to coerce his limbs into movement, wary of the odd position he'd landed in among the weeds on the side of the road and careful not to jar anything that might've broken. _This really is not my week._ Dean sat up slowly, reaching up to unbuckle the helmet's chinstrap. Come to think of it, this really wasn't his _year,_ either. Or maybe he'd just been cursed with such shit luck since birth.

The hunter sat up slowly, feeling more than a bit rattled but altogether intact. It wasn't nearly as bad as crawling up out of his own grave and having to choke up bits and pieces of dirt along the way. He had no idea what had happened or why the motorcycle was suddenly going sideways and tilting over when suddenly he'd been airborne, flying through the air like a wet rag… Dean grimaced and climbed to his feet cautiously, one hand against his aching back. At least the helmet protected his skull; God knows he couldn't afford getting another lump on the head-

_Shit._ _Marie._ Him having the nurse's helmet meant that she didn't… His head snapped to the side so fast that he was sure he heard a distinctive '_crack_' indicative of whiplash but he paid the sudden twinge no attention; it couldn't have been worse than the other source of concentrated pain he was experiencing and he squinted around for the motorcycle's driver. _She doesn't deserve to go out like that,_ he thought despairingly. _She has nothing to do with any of this and I dragged her into my mess…_

Through the misty haze of rain, Dean's gaze focused upon the Ducati that lay on its side, and a little ways away from the smoking vehicle, the nurse's petite frame sprawled out on the pavement and it felt like someone had just jammed their fist down his throat. "Marie?"

She didn't move as he lurched closer but he had to shake his head hard because it must've been double vision or something, because he recalled that she'd been wearing a dark jacket and the color of bloodstained cloth he saw was white, now dirtied from the crash. _The hell?_ A couple of steps closer and then he clearly saw the androgynous features and the fist shoved its way even further down into the pit of his stomach. _Gabriel?_

"Oh, no…" came a gasp. Marie was on her hands and knees beside the archangel's vessel, face drawn with fear and horror. One of her shaking hands came to rest on Gabriel's bloodied torso and she used the other to cross herself, panic-stricken. "No, Padre, por favor…"

Dean didn't know who to worry more about, the wounded archangel or the poor harassed nurse who seemed like she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "Hey, are you-"

"He broke my fall," she panted, turning huge, frantic eyes upon him. "I tried to stop but I couldn't; he just suddenly appeared out of nowhere and I-I couldn't and then there he was- Dios mío, qué hice?!!" Her light brown hands scrabbled desperately at Gabriel's torn chest, trying in vain to staunch the flow of blood.

The rain fell steadily, making her wet hair cling to the sides of her face like twisted snakes and as she tore off her jacket, balling up one of the sleeves in her hand to use as a makeshift tourniquet. _What have I done, what have I done, what have I done?!!_ She'd been trained to uphold and preserve life, not take it away and she knew that if this man died, it would haunt her forever more. Marie patted the side of a face that was already too cold, be it from impending death or the rain she couldn't tell- "Sir? Sir, please open your eyes!" The man's eyelashes fluttered and she felt a tiny glimmer of hope; there was still time-

Silver-green eyes pierced dark brown and something between a gasp and a scream left her throat; Maire reeled in shock because there was no mistaking that intense gaze and she jerked her hands away as if burned. This was the same man she'd seen in the hospital before she'd lost at least an hour of memory, the same man who'd rendered her unconscious with just a tap against her forehead and instantaneous fear swirled with shock and confusion welled up- a dangerous combination for the young woman who always needed to know what was happening and for what reason.

"Marie, take it easy…" Dean placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to figure how he was going to explain himself but she jerked away from the touch, scooting away from both of them and hastily rising to her feet.

"Don't touch me!" she screamed, pushing him back with surprising force and holding her hands out in front of her chest defensively. "Who are you?! Who the hell is he? _What_ is he?!" Marie pointed an accusing finger at the wounded man who apparently had the ability to appear out of thin air and disappear at will. "Tell me what's going on!"

Dean opened his mouth and closed it again with a snap, unsure of what to say. His eyes flickered over to Gabriel, who was still bleeding profusely out of any number of gaping wounds the angel bore; there was too much blood to tell. He didn't want to think of what Castiel's state was and wondered what kind of special hell he'd be sent to this time for letting his angel and God's messenger die…

"He's an angel."

_Oh, making fun of my faith now, are you?_ Marie scoffed at the absurdity of the answer. "You are out of your mind," she whispered, shaking her head, ready to turn and run from this psycho and his dying partner, no matter what the Hippocratic oath bound her to, no matter how guilty she'd feel later. "I was wrong. You're not a troubled criminal, you're not just disturbed; you're a lunatic!" She didn't want to be a part of whatever game this was any longer lest she herself go insane-

Or maybe she _was_ the crazy one. Sudden terror enveloped her within its smothering grasp and Marie blinked furiously against the falling raindrops, trying to clear her vision and her mind at the same time; her fingers clutched the pendant around her neck tightly but she had no idea what prayer to offer up that protected against chaos and instability of the mind. _Oh Lord, it's happening. It's happening to me again._

The delusions were manifesting themselves in the form of the _wings_ she thought she'd seen attached to the other man's back; maybe _he_ was a hallucination and God above, what if this entire thing was a delusion? She'd been seeing things since she was young, hearing whispers of ethereal voices that couldn't have been uttered by voices of mere human beings but had long ago buried those illusions, hoping that wishing them away would keep the mental disorder at bay.

_They say that visual hallucinations are the most common but auditory and tangible illusions were possible as well… __Mama __started with thought disorder and flat affect but the doctors said that relatives didn't necessarily have to have the same subtype…_ Marie's thoughts rose to an overpowering shriek within her mind and she clutched the sides of her head, fighting tears as the schizophrenia her mother and siblings all had seemed to reaching out to affect her as well, switching on and unlocking some defective part of her genetic code that caused the split from reality-

"_Marie." _

That voice, that _voice_! No man could boast of having so beautiful a voice. Slowly, she let go of her defenses, and listened.

Dean had no idea what was going on other than the fact that Gabriel was probably using his angel ESP because the fear and near-hysteria on the nurse's features were being washed away with the condensation from the sky and other moisture that wasn't rain as the droplets slid down her cheeks. Her eyes were widening not in shock but in what seemed to be realization and…was it relief?

"Oh God," Marie whispered brokenly, falling to her knees and crying harder than ever before. "I knew that it wasn't just light and shadow all those years, I knew I wasn't crazy; it was real, all of it, everything that I've ever seen and heard… _Dios en el cielo…_" _Alright, now I know that if I'm not schizophrenic, I'm definitely bipolar. But who can blame me?_

"Peace, daughter of Eve." The archangel was on his feet, wan pallor of his face stark white to match the areas of his suit that remained clean, stepped forward unsteadily. Dean wasn't sure whether or not to help the archangel, and so simply hovered nearby, helping Marie to her feet as Gabriel lifted his face to the weeping heavens and that quickly, in the flutter of an eyelid, they were gone.

The highway patrolmen who would arrive later would happen upon an upturned motorcycle and a discarded helmet; they would speculate how the rider managed to leave the scene. What they wouldn't notice or file away in their reports was the large bloodstain slowly being washed away in rivulets, watered down crimson snaking against the dark pavement.

* * *

No callous laughter rang out around him, there were no demons dancing around and pushing their twisted, sneering faces through the haze of his pain to mock him, nothing but the bite of the whip as it fell all over his exposed frame- at his neck, curling around his displaced ribs; digging several centimeters into the flesh and ripping through skin, cutting open a new strip of fire. The heat surrounding him threatened to push in upon him until there was nothing left, until Hell had consumed the angel in its midst.

Castiel's heaved as the angel tried to breathe normally but he would not submit to their foul misdeeds, he would not betray Almighty God, he would _never_ betray Heaven. Even if his vessel broke, even if they tore his soul apart… _But Father, please do not let it come to that. _

There was movement in front of him and Castiel lifted his head with great effort, jaw tightening and hardening his sapphire gaze to face down the demon that had come to torment and tempt him- but it was no demon and for the first time, the angel felt a glimmer of relief. _Gabriel?_

Could it really be he whose name declared God to be his might? His vessel's parched throat and badly cracked lips disallowed him from physically calling out Gabriel's name and so Castiel tried again, mentally reaching out for the archangel though his strength had been nearly sapped by the torturous administrations. _Brother!_ He called out, hoping until his heart ached.

Slowly the archangel turned, but there were no traces of compassion or familiarity in his features- only cold mightiness and impassive neutrality that was frightening to behold and the silver-green eyes were narrowed, as if Castiel was too sickening of a spectacle to gaze upon. The Lord's messenger spoke then, tone flat; but his words were far more painful than having to spend an eternity in Hell, cutting far deeper than any harm any demon could have inflicted upon the other angel-

"_Away from Heaven's gate, corrupted soul. I know ye not." _

_No._ The declaration drove deep into his soul and Castiel lunged against his restraints, heart and hope shattering as his elder brother turned away. He tried to call out but broke off in a fit of hacking coughs before trying again. "Gabriel!" It was a barely audible rasp. "Brother, please…" the angel pleaded, voice breaking. _I have not allowed evil to penetrate my soul; I am still God's servant- it is I, Castiel! Please, my brother, I beg of you, do not leave me here…_

Cold fingers closed around his neck and hot breath blew across his cheek; there was a hiss in his ear- _"It seems like you're mine now, Cas, forever," _and he shuddered as Belial trailed a slimy tongue along the underside of his jaw-

"_How could you do it, Castiel?!" _It was Dean standing in front of him now, face fixed in a mask of rage. _"I trusted you; now Sam's gone darkside and it's your fault, it's your fault, it's..." _The hunter's eyes were cold and hard; empty of all that Castiel knew of his charge and the angel swallowed tightly and tried to look away from the accusing gaze. He'd tried, couldn't Dean tell that he'd tried so hard to save the younger Winchester?

Dean's angry features morphed into a face that was startlingly similar; they bore the same angular jaws and the same eye shape even though the colors of the irises were different, more green than hazel versus deep brown-

"-your fault," Sam hissed, tracing the cold steel blade against the angel's neck and pulled the blade back for the final blow but suddenly halted. Castiel's blue eyes were still riveted on his and though unfocused and cloudy, they were still lucid and that _wasn't good enough._ No, he wanted to see those sapphire orbs drowning in tears of their own making, he wanted the angel to suffer for trying to take away everything that ever mattered to him. _First Dean, now Ruby…_

Switching holds on the knife, Sam curled his fist around the handle and stabbed the blade in between Castiel's shoulder blades, dragging the serrated blade all the way downwards and watched as the angel's face lit up in agony.

* * *

Being a demon, Belial did not surprise easily, nor was he weak of stomach. But standing there on the other side of the glass wall, watching his student tearing apart flesh and being doused in blood, his eyes widened-if only for a fraction of an inch- in stunned awe at the younger Winchester's savage brutality. _I believe the pupil has indeed surpassed his master._

A magnificent cracking sound penetrated the supposedly soundproof glass panel, mingling with a hoarse cry of pain from a parched throat and Belial inhaled deeply in appreciation at the exhibition. "Fuck me," the demon murmured. "Sam Winchester, you have given my angel his wings." He stepped forward, heat flooding his loins when-

_Bzzz. Bzzzzz._

He was seriously considering sending the brazen little hussy's soul straight to the Pit as he answered the Blackberry but before he had a chance to say anything, the voice of his personal assistant squawked over the line.

"Mr. Todd? There's a Dean Winchester here to see you."

_A/N: I'm sorry if this chapter seemed a little slow! Don't be alarmed; Sam may seem scary right now but all things will be resolved in due time. I'm anxious as always to hear your feedback and I'm sorry if Marie seemed a little Mary-Sue here; I tried hard to give her some sort of backstory without taking her down that path. Please review and tell me what you think! _


	10. Reunion

_A/N: __**Important**__: for the individuals who brought to my attention the existence of another story that seems to be taking ideas from this one, I have seen to that issue and hope that it will be dealt with soon._

_Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its affiliates belong to Eric Kripke._

Pondered upon by all at one time or another if not constantly, personified through art and literature as a grotesquely grinning skeleton or an old man with a scythe, and the one thing that visited every single being without discrimination, Death enjoyed a tradition of fear spanning back to the beginnings of time. They said that what man feared most was the unknown, and what was more uncertain and mysterious than the cessation of life?

There was no dignity or honor in death; no matter by what means the lungs stopped expanding, carbon dioxide waste ceased to be transformed into oxygen, or how arteries and veins dried up- it was always unpleasant, ugly even. Without fail, whether a man met his demise through execution, self-slaughter, assassination or a simple demise, no being escaped the mortal veil of his own end; no one slipped past the overshadowing wings of the Angel of Death.

It wasn't so much how one died, or when; rather, it was how one approached the inevitable approaching of eternal rest. Some men were spineless weaklings and mindless idiots, falling upon their own swords in the midst of the fray; likening themselves to the coward Nero or foolishly pursuing noble missions that resulted in kamikaze type destruction. Others died for empty-headed notions that wouldn't matter once their bones dried and turned to dust, for honor or pride or for country. For America the Beautiful, for the Motherland, for the Queen or whoever the hell one's allegiance bound him to forever.

Few strode so willingly and knowingly to the guillotine, whistling a merry little tune.

Belial ascended the stairs to the first level of the mansion, his surroundings changing from steel-plated walls of dull metallic grey to the warmth of burgundy painted walls decorated with a Monet here and a Picasso there, Italian loafers clicking sharply against the marble floor. The demon strode forward jauntily with a confident step, smoothing out the waves in the dark chestnut slicked back hair, straightening the sharp, simple double breasted black suit as he moved along.

At last, at last he would finally get a chance to meet the famous Dean Winchester. Nearly every single being above the Earth and in the bowels below it knew of John's eldest son, the hunter of prophecy who broke the first seal and signaled the coming of the Apocalypse. Of course he'd seen the boy holding out for an admirable length of time before finally caving under Alastair's administrations, but Belial never expected him to be different from any of the other screeching, weeping souls- at least, not until Dean took up the knife himself.

_Those Winchester boys seem to have their own streak of madness hidden down deep beneath their noble exteriors, don't they?_ He wanted to see just how strong Dean could be, this man that every single tormented soul in Hell envied for the gracious second chance bestowed upon him, he whom the warriors of God laid siege to the Pit for. He wanted to see how ruthless this righteous man was capable of becoming once he saw the extent of what had been inflicted upon his beloved angel.

_Your younger brother has proved himself more than adequate; how will you wield that primal savagery lurking within you, Dean? How far will you go?_

Belial crossed from the library into the dining room, past the shelves that extended to the upward arched ceiling, past the glass chandeliers and finery and wealth that could have fed a small third world nation, stepping into the foyer. _Hello, and what have we here? _The first thing he caught sight of was his loudmouthed personal assistant sprawled out on the floor amidst the strewn papers of that agenda she was always trying to get him to adhere to, and a sly grin pulled a corner of his mouth upward. _Ah, about time someone got her to belt up. Commendable, Mr. Winchester. Very-_

The demon's steps stuttered to a stop, old-fashioned Michael Toschi Angelos squeaking slightly against marble. A slight frown creased Mason Todd's brow. He knew this presence. Stepping over the woman's form, he moved forward cautiously with chin lifted, nostrils flaring slightly, like a scent hound scouting out and identifying its prey.

_The flaming sword swept through the multitude of angels and they fell against the matchless strength of one who used to be their kin but had now allied himself with Lucifer, second only to the Blasphemer himself in might and sinfulness. God's warriors were cut down with ease, surging forward gallantly only to be wiped out in one fell swoop._

_Its wielder laughed callously, calling out taunting words those who remained standing steadfastly against the rebellious. "Hear, you deaf; look, you blind, and see! Who are deaf like God's messengers; blind like the servants of the Lord?"_ _Belial, once one of the highest of Seraphim, turned lustful eyes upon one angel in particular; the young and innocent brother whom he'd always fancied and he hefted his sword high to claim his prize. That soul that bore such exquisite sapphire eyes would be his indeed, Lucifer had promised him the spoils after the victory…_

"_**Who is it you have insulted and blasphemed?"**_

_The words boomed out from above, the majestic voice of the messenger of the Almighty resounding in and across the entire endless expanse of Heaven; there came the beating of wings as Belial raised his head and lifted his gaze up-_

_The descending archangel slammed into the renegade's chest, driving Belial down onto his back with incredible force, face alight with the holy power of the Lord. __**"Against whom have you raised your voice and lifted your eyes in pride? Against the Holy One!"**_

_Belial sneered scornfully, eyes melting from their previous flinty grey to a milky white in the presence of the other's light and brought up his sword but the Lord's messenger knocked it away with barely any effort and lifted his own blade, judgment in the action. "Would you kill one of your own, my brother?" Belial laughed. "It's too bad that the Father is merciful, isn't it?" _

"_**But do not kill them, lest they be forgotten,"**__ The archangel intoned in a low voice. __**"Consume them in wrath…"**__ With one swift, downward motion, the blade connected with Belial's left wing, reducing the appendage to ash and the angel's features began to deform, contorting and changing-_

_No, this was not how it was supposed to be. Lucifer was supposed to be more powerful than that nameless, faceless entity who called himself God! Belial bared his teeth and wrenched away, tearing across the battlefield, hands outstretched like claws for his rightful trophy; if he was to fall, he would drag __**his **__Castiel down with him. Behind him, Gabriel's voice exploded louder than ever before and with an unmistakable undertone of rage that was not of the Father, but his own- _

"_**CONSUME THEM TILL THEY ARE NO MORE!"**_

_Belial's other wing was ripped from his back and the floor of Heaven opened as Lucifer and his followers were cast from the Lord's presence, appearing like falling stars streaking against the darkness of the night. The wicked fell, their beings warped and twisted into grotesque images, mockeries of the sons of fire as the Father's words were spoken. _

"_**Then will it be known to the ends of the earth that God is sovereign." **_

Oh, he knew this presence. He would know the grace of the one who ripped the wings from his back ugly sneer twisted Mason Todd's attractive features and Belial strode forward with confidence once more and twice the spite, calling out to the hidden being. "Come now Gabriel, you are a guest here in my house." He turned warily, eyes rolling back in his head to expose white. "At least have the courtesy to show yourself and greet the host, yes?"

A whisper of movement stirred some of the fallen agenda papers and the demon spun around swiftly to catch glimpse of the named archangel stepping out of the glare of the luminescence of the light against a surface, looking somewhat worse for the wear. Belial smirked. "So, where is the real Dean Winchester?"

Gabriel's face was blank, and frighteningly so as he spoke in an eerily calm voice, not answering the demon's question but instead posing one of his own. "Where is Castiel?"

* * *

She wasn't a supermodel, but there was definitely alluring about her and she knew it. She might have looked like your average girl next door after a makeover, but it was something else that made the men absolutely crazy for her, that made her irresistible. It was that same spark that all vixens possessed but she wasn't as nearly scantily clad or blatantly seductive. Maybe it was the way she seemed to sashay as she walked across men's fields of vision, or the way an air of confidence hung about her.

Or maybe it was the way her pupils dilated unnaturally to the point that the black stretched out over the irises and whites of the eyes.

Ruby strode leisurely down the hallway, a beguiling smile touching her lips as she recalled the way the lines of hate had carved themselves in Sam's face, the power that seemed to radiate from his sturdy frame drew her in like no magnet could have ever done to any opposite pole. _You've gotten so strong, Sammy. And we did it together; you need me and I can give you all that you need. I said that I'd always be there for you, didn't I? That little fallen angel perched on your shoulder…_

An arm hooked around her throat and the demon felt the cold steel that pulsed with a life of its pressed against her throat. But even before she knew the blade to be her own, she knew who it was. He smelled like sandalwood, musk, and gunpowder and Ruby had to admit, Dean Winchester radiated sex appeal in his own right but beneath all the machismo, there was the rank stench of sour guilt and fear. "Dean," she purred in greeting.

"Where is he?" came the low growl. "Tell me right now or I'll end you right here-"

"You want to see Sam?" Ruby interrupted. "Fine. I'll take you to your brother but he might be a little preoccupied right now. Don't expect him to look so hot, either." She turned her head and cast him a wicked smirk. "Carving up an angel is grueling dirty work, after all."

Through the roaring in his ears, Dean dimly heard a strange sound and it took him a moment to register and identify the sound as his molars grinding together. _Carving up an angel…_ He hadn't even noticed that he'd only demanded to know the whereabouts of one of the two missing individuals and now he had no idea which one he'd been wanting to find more: Sam or Castiel. Swallowing hard, he tightened his grip on the demon he held and pressed the blade tighter against her neck. "What the hell did you do to Castiel, you demon bitch?!"

"Me?" Ruby laughed, a trilling little laugh that made the hunter want to rip her vocal chords out. "_I_ never laid a hand on him."

"That's bullshit."

"But you should've seen Sam, he made your angel _dance_ like a puppet on strings_-"_

Her back was slamming against the wall and Dean's face was frozen in lividity, hazel eyes having turned emerald green as they always seemed to do under extreme stress or in moments of inconsolable anger and Ruby felt the cold bit of the dagger scraping against her throat and breaking the skin, drawing forth a thin line of blood. Suddenly she knew that she was in danger; that look in the hunter's eyes was one that was both impulsive and dangerous-

"But don't take my word for it," Ruby said hurriedly, the words spilling out of her mouth like water, tumbling over each other. "You don't have to believe me. I know you, Dean; nothing's true unless you have the proof right in front of you." She smiled smugly at the sudden uncertainty in the hunter's face. "You want to see for yourself?"

Dean's grip on the dagger wavered. Did he want to see? She had to be lying because damn it, demons always lied. _But do angels always tell the truth? _That was doubtful. But if there was even an _inkling_ of truth in what she was saying… did he have what it took to witness the atrocity that his little brother had supposedly become?

* * *

He drew back for a moment to catch his breath, swiping his forehead with the back of his hand to wipe away the thin sheen of sweat there. Sam paused suddenly at the feeling of something warm and sticky trailing down his temple; he glanced at his hand as if it was a foreign object instead of a mere extension of his body. _That's interesting. _

The hunter glanced at the thick liquid congealed in opaque pools on the concrete floor, then turned his attention to the crimson crusting his clothes and covering his palms. It stained his fingers and was etched so deeply under his fingernails that it was doubtful any quantity of water could remove the blemishes.

A tingling sensation crept up his spine as Sam examined the crimson drops sliding out from between layers of shredded skin and torn muscle, strangely akin to the sensation that pumped furiously through his veins whenever he drank from Ruby's wrist. _I wonder…_ A roguish grin crossed his features. If the blood of a demon gave him this much unbelievable strength, then how much more could the blood of an angel empower him?

"You know," he said aloud leisurely, "they say that there's a fine line between a lot of things." Slowly, he began to walk in a circle with the unfortunate captive as the epicenter. "Pleasure and pain…love and hate…genius and insanity…" He halted in front of the other, tilting his head to the side contemplatively. "You and me."

There was no response and the wickedly mischievous grin dropped off Sam's face. He reached out and backhanded Castiel brutally across the face, gaining a sense of satisfaction at the feel of the thin and horribly cracked lips splitting under his knuckles and adding to the copious amount of blood there. "What is it that makes you so much better than me?" he spat, fingers curling around the angel's throat. "We've both got demon blood inside of us now. You and I…" he leaned in close to hiss the words, venom dripping from his voice, "_We are no different."_

Castiel did not respond. At this time it seemed highly unlikely that the angel was capable of registering anything but Sam knew that his taunts were not going unheard; if the only evidence was the barely noticeable hitch in the already shallow breathing, in the tremble the passed through the broken frame. _That's right. You're no fucking better than the boy with the demon blood. How's that feel? _

"Why don't you tell me how you think this is going to end, huh? You who always have all the answers, who's always so sure about what to do per God's command. So how 'bout it, Cas?" The hunter mocked, sliding the grip of his fingers upward and deliberately cutting off the air supply to the trachea. "You think Heaven wants you back like this? You're _worthless,_ you piece of trash."

The was no way for him to consciously differentiate between the twist of a blade in his vessel's flesh or the painful threading of demon blood through this body; all he knew was the pain that came from the irregular edges of jagged bone, from the poison of Sam Winchester's words-

"Not going to answer?" Sam asked in mock surprise. He released Castiel's throat and walked around to the angel's back again. "Alright, let me-" His hand disappeared from view and closed around something hard and lightweight but brittle "-_break_ it down for you." Sam's bicep stood out clearly against the cloth of his shirt and the veins in his arms stood out from the strain.

"I guess I have to take back half of what I said," he grunted with effort. "See, no matter what I do, Dean will _always_ come around for me. You know why? 'Cause I'm Sammy, that's why." The younger Winchester laughed callously. "I'm all he's got left. Who've you got, Cas? Dear old Daddy? Haven't seen any of your brothers around either, except for the one who pumped you full of what's now made you a monstrosity." A snap rang out in the cell like a splintering tree in a lightening storm and Castiel drew in a ragged breath, too weak to scream, too weak to do anything but hang there limply, taking it.

Angels were able to withstand more than any living man. But even the warriors of Heaven had points of no return and Sam was pushing his victim closer and closer to the threshold that, once crossed, provided that nothing could be made right again.

* * *

"My, my. Would you look at that?" Belial whistled in admiration at the gaping wounds marring Gabriel's torso. "Now I wonder what could have done that," the demon mused in faux wonder, grinning at the wan pallor of the archangel's face resulting from blood loss. "Seems like you were the one on the wrong end of a blade this time, brother."

"You are no brother of mine." It was a low growl, voice rough not with pain, but with the physical limitations of having a hole in one's chest.

"That hurts, Gabriel." Belial smirked, shaking his head in scornful disappointment and sadness. "Oh, and look here, you're getting blood all over my carpet. I do hope you're going to clean that up." He strode over to the full bar in the adjacent dining room. "But you are my guest and I have manners. Might I offer you a mojito, on the rocks?" The demon turned back toward the archangel, tumbler in hand, a lascivious smirk spreading across the lower portion of his face. "Or how about something more extreme, say… a screaming orgasm?"

A crack appeared in the archangel's impassive mask with a crease in the smooth brow; his lips were stretched into a thin, tight line. There was a definite underlying threat that promised fatal consequences if the demand was not answered with the repetition of the previously spoken words. "Where-is-Castiel?"

The demon ignored question, dropping four ice cubes into the drinking glass and reaching for the white rum. _No, I'm in the mood for something that… burns._ The demon retracted his hand and took up the bottle of Stoli Vodka instead, taking his sweet time. "Are you sure I can't make you a drink?" he threw over his shoulder.

A grandfather clock that stood in the foyer ticked loudly, obnoxiously; a moment passed. Then-

Having been an angel himself, Belial knew what the sudden fluctuation in air movement meant; he heard the whisper of beating wings clearly. _I'm surprised good sir, you disappoint me._ Turning around swiftly he thrust one hand outward toward the archangel, directing the entirety of Hell's strength that he possessed directly at the other's open wounds and propelling the already injured frame back against the standing clock, toppling the large timepiece and shattering its glass case. _Not so powerful inside that meat puppet of yours, are you now?_ "Dear me, your skills are getting a bit shabby, no?" the demon said pleasantly, though that simple shove required more effort than he would have ever admitted aloud.

Gabriel was not a poor soldier. Far from simply acting as the Lord's mouthpiece, he was a fierce warrior who fought with all of Heaven's authority, honoring and upholding the Father's commands without question or deviation. Never one to be taken down easy, the archangel was on his feet in an instant, ready for the impending battle though severely inhibited by his vessel's grave injuries-

Reaction was always swifter than the initial action though; Belial moved his fingers as if playing a piano and a thousand shards of glass stabbed themselves into Gabriel's vessel, peppering the white landscape of the angel's back with blossoms of red. "Lucifer's sword does hurt like a bitch, doesn't it?" Belial chuckled in amusement. "Castiel knows that now too." His hand twitched, reaching out with intangible far-stretching fingers digging into the slash received by the aforementioned blade and dragging the torn skin even further apart-

An iron band wrapped around the demon's wrist and clenched tight, snapping the bone in one clean break. Belial hissed, then found himself airborne, flying across the room even though his wings had long ago been separated from his essence, invisible white hot fire licking across his chest, slamming him back into the solid teak dining table and a disk in Mason Todd's vertebrae slid out of place, jutting into adjacent muscles. _Yes, that's it…_ The demon lay on his back, unable to turn his head, curvature of his vessel's spine now twisted out of place but with a grin of masochistic glee on his face. "Are you wondering why you can't detect Castiel's grace?" he sneered at the approaching archangel. "Have you considered that it's because there's nothing left to recover?"

Gabriel's back stiffened and his jaw clenched tight. Silver-green eyes glared out from under straight, furrowed eyebrows, daring the demon to continue the taunt; a vein in his vessel's temple pulsed, elegant fingers were curling into shaking fists-

"Your little brother has a lovely voice, Gabriel," Belial said casually, each syllable oozing from his mouth like a serpent's hiss, beguiling and tempting. "_Especially_ when he screams."

Each window, every glass surface in the marvelous multi-story mansion shattered into pieces, light bulbs melted in place and the walls rocked upon their foundations, sending down showers of sawdust and mortar. The bottles lined up along the bar exploded, sending streams of tequila, Bailey's Irish Cream, and cranberry juice to mingle with the blood streaking the floor; yet all the liquid was instantly evaporated as the overwhelming holy light of Heaven filled the entire structure, emanating outwards from the angel's vessel. Mason Todd's eyes were incinerated within their sockets and there came the sound of sizzling, burning flesh as an archangel's hand descended upon human flesh, slamming the man's face down against the floor littered with broken glass.

Alexander Marlow crumpled to the ground as the archangel left him, having lost too much blood to survive. He would never get to see the results of the LSAT he'd worked all his short life for, he would never get to arrive at his sister's rehearsal dinner for which he'd donned his best white suit (the bride was of the opinion that black looked terrible on her twin brother); he would never hold the child that was growing inside his wife's belly, the baby girl they tried so hard to have for nearly four years. He was simply yet another victim, just another necessary sacrifice in the everlasting struggle between Heaven and Hell.

* * *

The lights flickered briefly, stroboscopically, throwing weird shadows on the dull metal-plated walls and across Dean's wide-eyed, horrified gaze and gaping mouth. Bits of plaster rained down from the ceiling and settled on his shoulders like dusty grey snow but the hunter paid no heed to any of his surroundings save for the sight directly in front of him, the ghastly view on the other side of the glass wall. _This is- I don't… that's not…_ His mind was unable to compose a single, comprehensible thought as he stared, stomach starting to perform death-defying acrobatic flips.

"_Sammy_?"

It was a choked whisper, filled with disbelief and Ruby couldn't help it- she laughed at the expression on his face; who would've ever thought that the great Dean Winchester would be caught _dead_ with that deer in the headlights look, with a countenance that likened him more to a little lost child instead of a hunter who'd faced down seven foot live teddy bears and demons alike. He released her, movements robotic as he lifted a hand and placed it on the cracked glass panel, reaching out for the brother that he now had no way of getting through to ever again.

_This is not happening. The Trickster's got you trapped in some kind of imaginary world, an angel's messing with your head again or something- _But he knew that all of this was very real; the cool, fractured surface of the glass underneath his hands, the glare of the spotlight off pools of wet blood, the feel of his teeth nearly chewing a hole through his lip to keep from screaming out but it came anyway. His voice was colored with anger so deep and virulent that it would poison him if he didn't let it out someway- "_**SAM!!**__"_

His brother- or the stranger he thought was his brother- turned and Dean was hit with a wave of nausea at the amount of blood covering Sam's face, but even more so at the gleam of insanity he saw lurking in the lines carved into Sam's face, highlighted by the blood drying on his skin. _What the hell are you doing?!_

Castiel might've been standing at one point but the angel now sagged lifelessly against chains crusted with blood, both dried and fresh, looking like someone had reached inside him and ripped out his essence, leaving behind an empty shell. Two flaps of skin and muscle were hanging off on either side of the angel's back and protruding from behind these were what looked like lengths of white sticks, the ends ragged and cracked. Cold sweat broke out on Dean's forehead and the horror seeped out from his pores along with it, because while he'd never been to college, never taken an anatomy class, he knew damn well what his eyes were taking in.

_Someone_ had taken a blade of some sort and cut the angel's back open from beneath the shoulder blades to the hip, and then that same someone had peeled apart the two halves before forcibly ripping the ribs from the spine and splaying the bone outwards to resemble the skeletal frame of wings- a grotesque mockery of the warrior of the Lord. And the most likely candidate for that _someone_ was standing right next to Castiel, hands stained with blood.

"Dean," Sam nodded in greeting, giving his brother a maniacal grin that resembled an animal baring its teeth more than anything else. "Hey Cas, we've got company," he said in a smug tone, fingers grabbing either side of the angel's jaw and jerking the heavy head up and toward the audience they'd garnered. "My brother's here to kill you," the younger Winchester drawled in a singsong tone, clenching his fingers inward and grinding them against the edges of broken bone.

Castiel's eyes fluttered, once, twice. They opened then and Dean found himself caught in a wounded and barely lucid faded gaze that made the dark guilt bottled up in his core magnify to extraordinary proportions more than any direct accusation from Gabriel, from some questionable presence who called himself God ever could have. Angry tears of confusion and self-loathing welled up within his eyes and, unable to take it all in, he projected the rage and frustration upon the nearest available object.

"WHAT THE _HELL_ HAVE YOU DONE TO MY BROTHER, YOU DEMON BITCH?!!" Grabbing Ruby by the arms he shook her like a rag doll, as hard as he could until her teeth rattled in her skull, until she confessed what he so desperately wanted to be true; that she was the one who'd done this to the angel, not Sam. _Not Sam, there's no way he could've done all this…_

"Let her go, Dean." He glanced up and the shred of hope he had left evanescence into thin air. There stood Sam, pressing a carving knife against Castiel's abdomen, his eyes set into hard glints of heartless ice. It _was_ Sam, and it was only his little brother willingly daring to press cold steel against the angel's vessel. The threat was uttered in a voice that sounded nothing like Sam; it was one of pure hate. "Or I'll gut your precious angel."

"Sam, you're out of your damn mind-"

"Think I won't, that your dear Sammy is too weak, that I haven't got the nerve?" The other motioned at Castiel's back with one stained hand. "You should have been here when I tore him open."

There it was- a declaration of guilt, but it was far from a confession. Rather, it was more of a prideful claiming of the responsibility and it was then that Dean knew he'd truly lost his brother; he flung the demon aside without caring what happened to her anymore.

Sam smirked. "Good choice," he commented, pulling the blade away. "Now that you're here, why don't you enjoy the show?"

_Enjoy the-_ "SAM!" The holler of desperation was torn from his throat as he registered the words and threw himself against the glass wall, banging his fists against the cracked but thick transparent barrier. "_NO!!"_ His gut twisted, his eyes burned with tears and his heart absolutely fell to pieces as he stared back into the pain-filled blue bottomless gaze holding his; he couldn't look away. Not when Sam's hand dipped into Castiel's open back, not when the younger Winchester closed his fingers around another posterior rib and started to pull, not even when a tremendous crack rang out as another bone was wrenched free from the spine; they were trying to tell him something, something he _couldn't _comprehend.

This, _this_ was utter helplessness.

_A/N: Oh, wow. What have I done to poor Castiel? :-o_

_Yet another cliffhanger ending. You guys must absolutely despise me. There's a lot going on in this chapter though, a lot to digest! Please review and tell me what you thought of it!_


	11. Choice

_A/N: 100+ reviews?! My heavens, you people are absolutely AMAZING. There are no words to describe how ecstatic I am. Thank you so much for your commitment and for your wonderful feedback!! _

_Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its affiliates belong to Eric Kripke._

No matter how striking, how beautiful or how aesthetic something was, nothing made it shine the brightest like its ruin. That was the reason why the great pyramids grew even more majestic with ages of weathering, why toddlers painstakingly built up towers with their multi-colored blocks only to knock it down with gusto, why the world roared with approval each time a great society fell behind their carefully arranged masks of sympathy and horror.

The greatest splendor always seemed to emanate out of depravity, inspiring nobility from tragedy and stillness after the storm. It was the same whether applied to the remains of the Titanic as it lay in the depths of its watery grave, the ashes of Rome and the glorious rainbow after forty days and forty nights of rain… if one knew where to look and was willing to gaze long and hard enough into the face of disaster, there would always be the beauty and strength rising up to take and shape the wretchedness into something worthwhile again. While the hands of man were the greatest agents of destruction, they were also capable of amazing creativity in the creation and rebuild.

There was no such beauty evident in the wreckage of the mansion's interior. Shattered glass littered the marble floors, paintings hung askew or lay where they'd fallen; sculptures were cracked beyond repair and the entire structure looked ready to implode, as if a demolition crew had gone through but had done a half-assed job with the wrecking ball. Now all the scene needed to be another Guernica, to make Picasso proud, was horribly geometrically disproportionate animals and people wandering around, holding their dead and dying.

Perhaps Mason Todd's misshapen form would have to do.

Large, angry welts and third degree burns covered the man's entire body; shriveling the skin and making it slough off in large sections to reveal the raw muscle underneath the epidermis. Blood and milky white vitreous fluid streaked down the clean-shaven cheeks from empty eye sockets and yet the man's face had taken on the appearance of a grinning skull. Laughter, cold and callous, issued from his mouth, opening up the cuts on his face even more.

"Seems like someone needs some anger management classes," came the words, not in Mason Todd's fine tenor voice but in the hiss of a snake, the timbre of a demon. "Why that's touching Gabriel; you really _do_ care for your little brother, don't you? Always had a soft spot for dear Cas myself."

The demon's blood fizzled and evaporated at the light and power emanating from the archangel, but Belial continued nonetheless. _And just how far can I push you, Gabriel?_ "It must be hard," he sighed in mock nostalgia. "You've always been there to protect him, to patch him up, to rescue him from what he was too weak to engage in battle. Because he's not a fighter, is he?" The demon smirked; he wanted to see just how far he could go before the archangel submitted to the mortal sin of wrath that was not of Heaven, but of Gabriel's own volition. _Goading an archangel into falling? Ah, now that would be gratifying._ "It's alright though, Castiel makes one hell of a _fine_ bitch-"

Brick and mortar shuddered and the giant chandelier that hung above the scene as witness to all that had already happened swung dangerously on its weakening chain as the body was slammed into the far wall; there was a loud crack and a sudden, painful backward folding of the man's frame as his spine snapped in two and Gabriel stood above him, features schooled into impassiveness.

"_**In the name of the Father, I shalt purge the world of thy vile corruption,"**_the archangel said, bursting Mason Todd's eardrums and turning all the fluid in the man's cochlear structure and vestibular sacs to steam. The human response would have been to writhe in unbearable pain, but Belial was no man and the demon sneered.

"No matter, old sport. I'll always have my mark on this earth; I'll always have my permanent mark on little Castiel-" His jaw split into pieces as if someone had slammed a baseball bat into his mouth. Teeth scattered everywhere and the demon choked on blood as the coppery liquid grew thick within his mouth but Belial grinned wickedly, exposing gums and drooling blood as he continued to speak through the frothing mess of a mouth.

"Oh _yes_ brother, I branded dear Cas as my own…" The demon spat out a mouthful of blood and what looked to be a tonsil, flicking out his tongue. "And you should've been there to see his face when I _ravished _him- and the taste of his tears, how exquisitely _delicious_-"

Out of all the beings God Almighty had ever created, man was always the most praised and discussed, probably because human beings were egotistical, conceited bastards who liked to think that they knew it all; who liked to believe that they were the center of the universe (until Galileo proved that little theory to be false). It was natural then, for them to speak and write extensively and exhaustively about nothing other than themselves; natural for them to boast of their close connection with the Maker and Creator of all. However, it was the archangel that was the closest being capable of reflecting the Lord's temperaments; could carry out the orders of Heaven and dispense the most fearsome wrath of the Father through fierce and merciless judgment.

Mason Todd might not have been able to see anything, but from within the vessel Belial saw the reason why Gabriel was the archangel that all the Catholics prayed to, why he sat at God's left hand- an honor that not even the Prince of Angels himself received. Certainly Michael was lauded for being the valiant warrior who cast Lucifer from Paradise, but Gabriel was hand chosen by the Lord for the task of bringing to Earth the greatest news since the dawn of Creation. Free from the physical restraints of a human vessel, unbound and standing there in his true form, the archangel shone with all the glory of Heaven and for the first time in a long time, Belial was afraid.

There was no fearsome glare from smoldering silver green eyes this time, no hard set to the jaw or clenching of a fist- all those were simply superfluous gestures, acts of human conduct to indicate rage. There was no way for the overwhelming wrath of God to be made evident through mere behavior. The archangel was no longer responding to the demon's mocking himself for the light that surrounded his already blinding form had no place on the conceptualized wavelength of mortal comprehension; it was the response of an incensed Father to the torture and ridicule of one of his sons, it was the vengeful mark of the Lord himself.

The demon cowered within his meatsuit, holding tightly onto Mason Todd's form now more than ever. Earlier, he'd done it just for the sake of putting the man through indescribable pain at the hands of a livid archangel; now it was because he knew that if he tried to flee in his demonic form, Gabriel would smite him in an instant. _No. No!!_

This was not the end, this could not be the end for him; he was second in command of all the legions of Hell, second to only Satan himself!! The Apocalypse was imminent and the Earth would soon belong to Lucifer, the greatest being to ever live, he who surpassed even God and the world would fall into the embrace of those who were thought to be the damned-_"Clementia!!" _The demon howled as Gabriel closed fingers around his throat, burning the skin, burning clean _through_ the skin. _"Deus sanctus, concedo clementia!"_

Mercy. Holy God, grant mercy.

Yes, even demons believed in God, even those that had fallen turned to their former Father in times of desperation. But there was no guarantee that the Lord would answer.

"_**Release my servant."**_No longer an inquiry or a demand, no longer the words of an angel for the sake of his brother; it was the command of the Almighty, words that all creatures, no matter to what their allegiance was to, were compelled to obey.

Belial's face contorted; the voice twisting out of Mason Todd's mouth was a pained howl as he tried to resist the hand and power of a deity far more powerful than the forces of Hell. "I hold Castiel no longer!" The demon shrieked out, babbling in demonic tongues as Gabriel's form burned brighter; the archangel's face was a mask of impenetrable light. Another part of the ceiling crumbled, generously showering the scene below in a rain of rubble. The large, dazzling beautiful chandelier wobbled dangerously, once, twice. The chain supporting the giant piece of art was breaking, the links weakening and the glass shards reflected the confrontation below.

"_**A lying tongue lasts only a moment."**_ Gabriel lifted a hand and the demon screeched in agony, slowly being pulled from his vessel's tortured body. _**"But thy wicked soul shalt dwell in the depths of the eternal fire until the Day of Judgment." **_

Mason Todd fell limply, brokenly, to the floor strewn with the tokens and trinkets of the material world that would never last. His spirit cried out for salvation, finally having been freed from the demon's grasp, for salvation and for forgiveness. He'd been forced to live through the horrors that Belial performed, a helpless puppet in the demon's hands and Mason knew of the torment the blue-eyed angel had endured; he had shuddered in disgust at having his body used as a tool for inflicting further suffering. He knew where the angel was being kept, he knew how to shatter the glass observation panels with one direct blow to a specific weak spot at the panel's bottom right corner and yet he could say nothing. _Forgive me Lord, for having fallen prey to an agent of evil-_

The beautiful celestial beings descending from the shaft of light that fell from above seemed to know his thoughts though- _"Rest, son of Adam, be at peace"-_ and Mason allowed himself to be caught up in the gentle embrace, at last no longer having to fight with the demon inhabiting his mortal shell. As his soul entered into the fields of Paradise, with his last coherent thought, the young man's lips moved in a silent whisper.

"_Safehouse._"

* * *

_Stupid maniac billionaire-_ BANG.

_Damn wartime safehouse bunkers- _BANG.

_Fucking glass- _BANG_._

Dean reared back, smashing the butt of the shotgun once again into the already fractured glass panel, repeatedly and with the strength of a man possessed, mind whirling at a rate faster than he could comprehend. _I've got to get Cas out of here and to a hospital; he's not going to survive with that much blood loss…_ He'd read somewhere that the human body contained 6 liters of blood. For some reason, that number had always stuck with him.

Six liters of blood. Sixty-six seals. Six hundred sixty six was the number of the beast foretold in Revelations. Six Dawns, Six Hours. God, he was so sick of the number six-

"You're stronger than I thought," Sam mused aloud thoughtfully, settling back for an instant and flexing his fingers as if totally unaware of his brother not more than twenty feet away, banging against the transparent barrier like a madman. The younger Winchester observed the skeletal framework of wings made up of the angel's broken and rotated posterior ribs, of the cartilage connecting the bones to the spine that he'd ripped apart with his bare hands and a frown creased his features.

This _still_ wasn't good enough.

Castiel still drew breath, if the ragged, wheezing, shallow gasps could be called that; the angel was still hanging onto _something_ that kept him alive. Was it faith, or hope, or was it just pure damn stubbornness? Sam's eyes narrowed. It had to be something deep within the angel, something that blades could not pierce and blows could not weaken, some sort of resolve untouched by Belial's wandering hands or lustful gaze- _But I'll one up him too, because I'm going to make your God sorry that he ever let you sons of bitches interfere into my brother's life, into mine._

"Tell me what it would take to finish you," he said in a casual, conversational tone as he stuck his arm deep into Castiel's torn body, in entirely up to the elbow and twisted his wrist around, feeling his fingers drag against the slick internal walls of the angel's shuddering frame, knocking against bone and breaking through everything that held a human being together… until his fingers closed around something cool and pulsing weakly. _Hello, what's this?_

Sam clenched his fingers into a fist, crushing the orb within his grasp and all of the angel's muscles contorted violently; Castiel's back arched, his head was thrown back and from his open cavern of a mouth came a howl of primal, unintelligible suffering. _So this is what makes you tick, hmm? Interesting. And I just what effect ripping it out of you would have._

He had no more strength and now the tears flowed freely because he had no more pride; there was no more will left within him and as his grace melted, sliding over Sam's fingers like water, Castiel felt consciousness slipping, felt himself spiraling down into the shadows of a downward stretching tunnel that dipped into the depths of the darkest places ever known to the souls of the living and the dead. Was Dean really there, or was it just another figment of his overloaded mind? Did his brother really not recognize him anymore? Had his Father really abandoned him?

_He rescued me from my powerful enemy, from my foes, who were too strong for me. O Lord by your hand save me from such men… _

The panel was weakening under his relentless assault, cracking at the edges and ready to give way when Castiel's piercing cry rung out and something within Dean's mind quite literally snapped. It was audible, at least to him, like the snapping of the angel's bones and suddenly he was seeing nothing through a haze of red. His muscles acted upon their own accord and the hunter threw his entire body weight against the glass, falling along with a shower of glass into a pool of crimson that hadn't quite dried yet. It soaked through his clothes and was slick against his skin. He rose up, slipping once and dripping blood that wasn't his; bringing the shotgun around to point it at the one standing there with his arm buried in the angel's back, ready to pump this monster full of slugs-

"_I want you to watch out for Sammy, okay?"_

He froze.

"_Yeah Dad, you know I will."_

Just what had he assured his father of? What had he agreed to so long ago; what had he said that put John's mind at ease, knowing that both of his sons were going to be alright without him, that he could walk to the gates of slaughter, and willingly at that? Dean's fingers slipped against the trigger but not from blood this time and his hands were suddenly shaking. He knew what he'd promised; the words were burned forever into his memory, words he could hardly believed he could have uttered. He had promised his father that he would kill Sam if the younger Winchester ever went too far down the wrong path, if there was no way to bring him back to reality but he never thought that such circumstances would ever occur; he never thought that it would come to this.

Dean Winchester never knew that he would have to choose between his pain in the ass little brother and the angel that now seemed more of a brother nowadays than anything, between one of his kin infected with demon blood and a soldier of the Lord… between Sammy and Cas.

_And all because of my stupid pride, because I thought that I knew my brother well enough to haul him back from whatever trap he would fall into, because I told myself I would defy the nightmares and never let those things come to pass, all because I was too damn stubborn to believe that there was something I couldn't protect Sam from._

But this was reality; this was no dream although it could pretty damn well be considered the mother of all waking nightmares. He was a hunter and he never faltered but this shot was open wide and he couldn't bring himself to pull the damn trigger because it wasn't a ghost or a demon that he was facing down but with that feral snarl on his face, Sam had never looked more animalistic. Dean brought the shotgun up to his shoulder again, aiming for the leg-

_**BANG.**_

The metal-plated ceiling arched upwards with the single shot that lodged a slug into its surface. A shotgun cartwheeled through the air, having been ripped out of its owner's hands and the man himself was flying backwards out of the glass cell and down the length of the hallway, thin fingers digging deeply into the cloth-covered shoulder and wrenching him backwards.

A grunt of pain mingled with a startled groan escaped Dean's mouth and all the breath left his lungs in a whoosh as his back hit the floor hard and strands of long, dark hair were tickling his face. The hunter automatically drew in his knees and sent his legs shooting outwards, into the individual's stomach and knocking the slight frame away. He looked up, winded, noting for some absurd reason that he was lying a good ten meters away from where Sam stood behind the glass, grinning appreciatively at the person who'd knocked his brother away. _There's no way that was human._

"He's _mine_ so don't you touch him," Ruby hissed getting to her feet, pitch black eyes staring into hazel green ones. The demon advanced, a shard of broken glass clenched in her hand. "And _no_ man will take my Sammy away from me!"

_Your Sammy?_ Dean's anger flared up to enormous proportions and he struggled to sit up, armed with nothing but his fists and feet, with his teeth and the boiling infuriation that sent strength that wasn't his own streaming across his chest and down his veins. He knew he wouldn't be able to win against a demon but at this moment he couldn't possibly care less because he wanted to choke the life out of the bitch that dared to lay claim to his brother like he was an animal, and somehow he knew, something deep down inside his gut was telling him that _she_ had something to do with the state Sam was in right now… or maybe was it just denial speaking?

The girl she was possessing may have been brain dead, but demons were automatically more attuned to their senses, having spent too long in Hell to not appreciate every single real sensation- that wasn't pain- that could be perceived on Earth. Ruby heard the barest swish of clothing and whisper of movement, caught whiff of the lingering scent of some citrus flavored perfume and whirled around, arching backwards and away from the flash of the flickering lights against glinting amber-tinged steel.

Not nearly far away enough though. A hiss slipped past her lips as the sharp edge of a blade opened up a long, but shallow laceration across her torso. _Fuck! _Reeling backwards, Ruby spat out a curse and focused through the haze of pain draping across her vision, catching a glimpse of a silver crucifix swinging on its chain around a light brown neck and raised black eyes to meet a gaze equally dark. "Stupid bitch," the demon sneered, though warily keeping one eye on the dagger grasped tightly in the other's hand. "Little girls shouldn't play with sharp objects; you better put that down and stop trying to play the part of the Good Samaritan before someone gets hurt."

Marie twirled the light blade once with expert skill, eyes narrowed. "Bring it, _demonio puta_," the nurse challenged, ready for the counterattack. _Guess what bitch, this 'little girl' spent more than enough time playing with sharp objects when her older brothers ran with the Latin Kings and since you aren't human, Hippocrates's "above all, do no harm to anyone" doesn't really apply to you._

"This isn't your fight," Ruby drawled, inching closer.

"Wrong." Marie lifted her chin and glared darkly at this creature of abomination hiding behind a young girl's flesh; she could see the darkness that the demon was composed of, could smell the sulfur of its existence and the crucifix burned as it lay against her skin in the presence of such evil. "I am a servant of the Lord and above all, my duty is to defend the Truth and the Word of the Almighty." _It's in my blood._ True, she had no earthly idea as to what task she'd been chosen for and why; true she was shaking inwardly with fear and prayed for the courage and strength to waste this unclean soul, but Gabriel's authoritative words and magnificent voice resounded within her mind.

"_**You have found favor in the eyes of Heaven, daughter of Eve. We have work for you."**_

The demon flicked a lock of dark hair over her shoulder, leaning slightly as if ready to spring forward, to pounce upon her prey. "Well, then I'd say that your _duty_ is another way of saying _death_." Ruby smirked and lunged, hands outstretched and fingers claw-like, reaching for Marie's throat and Dean was scrambling to his feet; he couldn't let another innocent person die on his watch. _Not her too, goddamn it!_

She was ready for the approaching demon but before she had a chance to draw her foot back or shift her weight into a more defensive stance, Marie heard a whisper in her ear. _What?_ In those sparse moments, time was suspended. A bead of sweat dropping from Dean's brow hung in the air, the hunter himself seemed frozen with one foot in midair and arm reaching outward for her; mouth opened in a silent yell. The demon girl's body was entirely in the air; her face contorted in a fearsome sneer and Marie turned her head, gazing upon the grisly scene of the angel being tortured to death in slow motion. Comprehension and stunned realization dawned upon her features._ …Yes, I understand._ _Of course. I would do anything to serve God. _

Pure white light flooded the entire underground bunker, emanating outwards from the nurse's petite frame and threw both Dean and Ruby backwards again, flinging hunter and demon sidelong on the ground. Dean immediately flung an arm over his eyes; Ruby was cowering on the ground and shielding her own face from the near-unbearable brightness and God only knows what Sam was doing. Every panel of glass shattered, the light bulbs burst into flame and what seemed to be a ribbon of lightening twisted its way down into the tunnel, crackling electric and fizzling like an exploding star, burning brighter and brighter-

It disappeared.

Dean took his hand away from his face and propped himself up as best as he could on one arm, squinting blearily at the young Latina woman's back. "Marie?" he managed to ask roughly and coughed, throat suddenly feeling like someone had stuffed five pounds of cotton candy into his mouth and down his esophagus. "Are you alright?"

She was facing away from him but he immediately knew it wasn't her. There was something different about the way her shoulders were squared, in the way she slowly turned her head and Dean knew that there hadn't been that glint of molten silver in her headstrong dark brown eyes before. "Gabriel," he whispered. Beside him, Ruby shrieked aloud and scooted backwards before scrambling to her feet, cutting her fingers to ribbons on the glass strewn all about in her haste to get away but Dean wasn't focused on her; as of right now he didn't give a damn if she went and crawled back into whatever hole she crawled out of because something registered in his mind right then. _Sam. Castiel. Shit, __**no**__._

The archangel turned away and toward the other end of the hall, eyes landing on Sam, and then to Castiel's torn body. Terrible fury dawned on Marie's attractive features, physical manifestations of the archangel's rage at seeing his little brother tortured so and the nurse lifted a slender arm, thrusting a palm outward and toward the one covered in the angel's blood, toward the cause of the tears that had cut twin tracks through the grime on Castiel's cheeks, that had ripped him open like a butcher setting to work on a slab of meat. Sam was slammed backwards, hand jerking out of Castiel's back and head banging hard against the wall with a tremendous 'crack'.

"_No!_" Dean hollered, struggling to rise as his brother slumped to the ground, knocked out or possibly even dead, he couldn't tell from this distance. Gabriel was moving swiftly across the length of the hallway, feet crunching over broken glass and the hunter felt panic drenching his body in a cold sweat because he didn't know how pissed off archangels reacted, and it was clear that Gabriel was even beyond that point. _Got to stop him-_ He couldn't let Sam become a piece of charcoal or a pile of ashes, no matter how twisted the younger Winchester seemed to be at this point he was still his little brother, he was still his Sammy.

"Gabriel, _stop!_" Dean was running, arms and legs pumping furiously, more urgent than he'd ever been before because goddamn it, he wasn't about to let this happen! Vaguely, it crossed his mind, the futility of him, a mere human being, telling an _archangel_ of the Lord to do anything, but at this point it didn't matter; he was desperate and Marie's slim form was standing above Sam now, her brown hand was lifting dangerously-

"_Brother."_

It was a broken, shaky whisper, a fragile exhale of a word but somehow above the pounding of his own heart Dean heard it. Apparently the archangel heard his brother's barely audible plea as well because Marie turned, and with a quick flick of the wrist, the chains binding Castiel tight were flung away and the angel's limp body pitched forward, directly into Dean's arms.

_Holy-_ The stench of blood hit his nostrils full force and the hunter couldn't help it, he gagged upon seeing the torn open back; Dean forced the bile down and shut his eyes tightly against catching a glimpse of the angel's spine. Castiel had already lost probably more than half of the six liters of blood that circulated throughout the human body and though he'd never been to medical school or even passed the biology course in high school, the hunter knew that the body within his arms needed go under the knife immediately; there was no other way to fix this situation. _God, please don't let it be too late; it can't be too late-_

Yes, Dean Winchester was praying because kneeling there, pools of blood soaking through his jeans and holding the rapidly cooling body of his angel's vessel and with his brother lying off to the side, one twitch away from being reduced to nothing but a smear on the floor by the wrath of an archangel, there was nothing else to do but pray for help from the Almighty himself. With eyes squeezed shut, he couldn't see anything that was happening and so all he could do was clutch Castiel's still form to his chest all the tighter, protectively covering the angel with his own body as the world seemed to spin like someone had taken the entire terrestrial ball and shaken it like a snow globe.

* * *

"Sir? Sir, are you alri- Holy Mother of God!"

"Someone get a gurney out here, stat!"

"What the hell is this?!"

Dean raised his head, blinking against the strobe lights and his arms fell uselessly, bonelessly to his sides as they took Castiel, strapping the angel onto a gurney on his front with his head turned to the side, oxygen mask firmly attached to his pale, bloodless face. Exhausted hazel green eyes took in the frantic men and women dressed in pale blue and green scrubs scurrying around, yelling about morphine and the OR, and transfusions of blood- none of it made sense to him anymore. It was a nightmarish scene of overly bright colors and sounds that kept fading in and out of audition, growing louder and softer in volume until he couldn't stand it- but upon turning, the hunter caught sight of something that made everything else seem almost normal in comparison and he fell to his knees, the rain washing away the blood on his hands as a sob rose up in the back of his throat.

Gabriel stood at the entrance to the Emergency Room, still inhabiting Marie and simply standing there, watching as Castiel was taken into the hospital. There was no expression on the nurse's features and the archangel was completely dry thanks to the awning above- save for what Dean would swear upon his life was a single, solitary drop of moisture falling from a dark brown eye tinged with silver.

_A/N: I am SO SORRY for the late update! I hope that this chapter makes up for the long wait. Hope you enjoyed it! _


	12. Consequence

_A/N: Sorry for the late update but thank you for the reviews! Okay, before we get to the final chapter, I want a guarantee from all of you guys that you won't kill me once you've finished reading it. Promise? _

_Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its affiliates belong to Eric Kripke. _

The word in and of itself was derived from Latin, _ars medicina,_ meaning the art of healing. If the deepest-rooted fear in human existence was the fear of what lay beyond the mortal veil of the shadow of death, the most fervent enterprise sought after by man was a means by which to prevent or put off the inevitable end. At the dawn of civilization, prehistoric medicine followed simpler traditions such as herbalism, while exploring the spiritual aspects of healing through divination and animism.

Medical thinking shifted after the failed attempts of the Church to cure the plague that overtook every civilization in the 14th and 15th centuries, the Black Plague that would not dissipate or be swept away by crying out to the invisible God above or through repentance or desperate self-flagellation. The disparity between Eastern and Western ideals upon the subject was great indeed, practices spanning over the entire length of the spectrum from the art of connecting with one's inner charkas in Chinese medicine to the Father of Medicine himself, Hippocrates of the ancient Greeks.

Much time has progressed since the ages when physicians opted to utilize leeches and cutting to let out "bad" blood or when they used to drill holes in patients' skulls in futile attempts to relieve a headache. As of present day, doctors boasted of the ability to be able to do more than ever before, aided with the most cutting edge technologies and the wonders of modern science.

Physicians, however, even with all their CAT scans and transcranial dopplers, could never boast of being miracle workers. Sometimes, the best thing to do was make the patient as comfortable as possible in his last hours upon the Earth and contact and priest.

"I could really use some NoDoz right now…"

"Pass the sugar; no, not the Splenda, the _real_ sugar-"

"Is that hazelnut creamer?"

The low murmurs of conversation and percolating liquid brewed from the magical bean found deep in the jungles of Latin and South America filled the break room, as did the wonderful aroma of the roasted beverage, what so many individuals depended on to survive and just get through the day. Nurses and surgeons, orderlies and physicians all mingled together in this one safe haven from the blood, from the trauma and from the tragedy that so encompassed their daily lives. There was no hierarchy of individuals in the medical field here, no echelon of elites that broke off into their own cliques- here, all was discussed among the chatter of pregnancy stories, interesting cases, and the run of the mill gossip.

However, for the past few days, all everyone could seem to focus on was the patient that suddenly appeared right in front of the hospital's emergency doors close to three days ago, looking like he'd been spirited away to Guantanamo or back to the time of the Spanish Inquisition.

"I'd never seen anything like it before."

"Nelson said that he crashed on the way to the OR and they had no idea how to resuscitate him because there was no way to use the defibrillator; they couldn't turn him onto his back without risking dumping his organs out of his body…"

"He can't possibly be another victim of a mobbing or a motor vehicle accident; Henry told me all of his posterior ribs were _ripped_ from his spine. Something deliberately snapped the connective ligaments-"

He sat there wearily, listening to the words that came floating over from the microwave, where a trio of nurses were congregating around a bag of popcorn and speculating in stage whispers. None of them would truly know the patient's condition; how they actually had to call their neighboring hospital to send over more AB negative, exactly how many tubes had to be inserted into the man's still form just to make sure that he kept breathing, that his internal organs didn't decide to stop functioning.

Thomas Hartley liked to think that he'd seen his fair share of the shocking, the unsightly and the grotesque. Never had he ever imagined that he would one day be attempting to wire and screw a man's ribs back to his thoracic spine. Sitting there staring into the murky depths of his black coffee, all the ER doctor could see in his mind's eye was the layers of erector spinae and thorax muscles peeling away from each other, the waxy pallor of the patient's face and painstakingly making sure not to puncture a lung as he tried to piece back together the mess of bone and torn ligaments on the operating table.

"The man who brought him in- wasn't that the patient that went missing on Marie's watch?"

"She's still on suspension for that, isn't she?"

"But I saw her earlier; she was in the ICU -but there seemed to be something different about her, I couldn't quite but my finger on it-"

_Different?_ Thomas resisted the urge to scoff. _Well, that's certainly an understatement._ There'd been a rumor a couple of years back that the two of them were maintaining a relationship closer than professional protocol allowed, but in reality, their connection was a friendship based on much more than romance alone, something far deeper and more resilient to the weathering forces of life. He'd known Marie since she showed up in the Dean's office, fresh out of nursing school; he'd been there for her first breakdown when she'd gotten too attached to a child with a terminal illness, she'd been there to support him when his marriage fell apart. The young man found it safe to say that he knew Marie Elena Cortez pretty damn well, and that the woman keeping vigil at the strange new patient's bedside was not her.

"_Marie! Marie, are you okay?"_

There was something about the way she'd turned to look at him as she stood there by the door as they were wheeling the gurney in, something about the set to her jaw and the eerie light in her dark brown eyes that wasn't the Marie he knew. Thomas could've sworn they carried a hint of a startling shade of glinting grayish-white, or maybe it was just the neon lights reflecting off of the wet pavement, but there was definitely something foreign about her voice when she spoke. Gone was the warmth of the friendly bedside manner; gone was the spunk of the self-assured, confident young woman punctuated by the occasional rolling of r's indicative of her native tongue.

"_I am without injury. My brother is in need of medical ministration." _

The doctor shook his head, remembering. Who'd taken his spirited, fiery-tempered friend and replaced her with a robot that sounded like the Oxford Dictionary? _And where did this blue-eyed, pale-skinned "brother" come from all of a sudden?_ And who was this patient to Marie that she would lie to one of her best friends as to his identity? Thomas brought the styrofoam cup to his lips and swallowed the lukewarm bitter liquid, casting a sideways glance at the nurses filing out of the break room. _Maybe one of them can figure out what's going on with her; do some girl talk or something just to find out who the hell this stranger is-_

Was he jealous? _Of course not; what a ridiculous notion._ Confused? Definitely. But more than ever, the young man was concerned, and for his friend's sake. Most of the time, Marie's pretty face and gentle smile was one of the last things her patients saw when their time drew to a close. He knew she had the bad habit of forming close bonds with patients simply because that was simply the way she was, how she stubbornly refused to sit back and just watch someone die. Each death hit Marie personally because she was apt to feel more deeply and care with far more compassion than the average woman. She not only showed support, she shouldered a part of the burden and the sorrow, inevitably setting herself up for the grief and all the tears that came with such a task.

Thomas knew that while many other physicians and medical caregivers used pills, IV drips, and fancy terminology, Marie healed with all of herself. He'd had seen the way she lingered by the newly arrived patient's bedside, gazing steadily at the dying man with something strangely akin to fierce protection in her poise, in the shadow of her intense, unreadable expression and he was scared for her because he knew, because _everyone_ knew that the patient wasn't going to make it.

* * *

The moisture condensed from the atmosphere fell visibly in separate drops from the grey sky, running in rivulets down the hunter's face, into the collar of his shirt and soaking past cloth to chill the skin. Dean's shoulders were slouched, his posture defeated, face lined with weariness and other unnamable emotions he was trying to keep quelled deep within his chest.

His eyes were dry as they gazed upwards at the weeping heavens; there were no tears. It seemed like all of creation was crying enough for everyone and everything, as if the water could wash away the blood staining the floor of a glass cell down in the underground bunker of a now demolished mansion so many miles away, as if drowning the Earth could put one of Heaven's soldiers back together again and erase all that had been done in the past week, in the past month, year.

But Castiel wasn't some Humpty Dumpty that could be patched up with childish hope and duct tape; there were no king's horses or king's men to make sure the angel was all right and goddamn it all to Hell because there wasn't anything he could do about it. There wasn't a damn thing he could do to dispel the image of his brother thrusting his arm into Castiel's back with a maniacal grin stretching his face that was already smeared with the blood of an angel.

_My brother._ Dean laughed bitterly, the sound hoarse come from vocal chords strained from choking back the sobs and smothering down the screams, bottling up the urge to rage against the unseen God above, against the injustice that had been dealt to an angel whose only fault was caring too much about the human in his charge. _I don't even know who my brother is anymore._

"_Think that I won't, that your dear Sammy is too weak, that I haven't got the nerve? You should have been here when I tore him open."_

He never would have thought, even after hearing the words coming out of Sam's mouth while under the siren's spell, that Sam was capable of committing such atrocities. Dean hunched up his shoulders against the rain, which was falling faster now, rounding his back against a gust of wind. He would have never believed it had he not been standing there, watching with speechless horror. Truthfully, he would have gone on believing that it was all a farce, a dream, an illusion- if not for the reality of the raw fear and pain in Castiel's broken gaze.

"_You took care of Sammy, you took care of me. You did that, and you didn't complain, not once. I just want you to know that I am so proud of you."_

John's words rung out in his mind again, a ghostly echo of a whisper from the past and Dean swallowed hard at the bittersweet memory. _I'm sorry Dad; I can't take care of Sam anymore. _He could put up with a lot of bullshit from his pain in the ass little brother in the past but this was something he would never forget, and Dean wasn't at all certain it was something he could even find it in himself to forgive. _I don't know what's happened to him; he's become something that I don't recognize and can't tell apart from what you trained me to hunt because goddamn it, he was killing an __**angel**__…_

A foot depressed soggy ground a little ways behind where he stood on the hospital's lawn, a rather large-sized imprint into the mud and his throat tightened because he knew who it was, he knew all too well the hesitancy that emanated from the other person, tingling like currents of electricity upon the air.

"Dean?"

He didn't answer. The only indication he gave of having heard his name called at all was in a stiffening of his shoulders and clenching of his jaw. The other's voice was uncertain and cautious, a bit rough, and with an underlying tone of intellectual persuasiveness that was just so _Sammy_- but Dean didn't turn around. He refused to face this stranger that was wearing his brother's features, just as he had no desire to retrieve him from the ruins of Mason Todd's mansion. Sam must have walked the entire way here after waking and he should've been relieved that his brother made it safely, but deep within the darkest corners of his mind, a part of Dean was wishing he hadn't arrived here at the hospital at all.

"Don't do this, please; just- just…talk to me?"

"Not now," was the frosty reply. _Just leave, go somewhere else other than here because talking is the last think I want to do right now. _

There was silence for a moment, then- "Dean, _please_ let me explain-"

Suddenly, he was absolutely and uncontrollably livid. "I said '_not now'_, okay Sam?!" Dean yelled, hollering the words out from deep within his chest into the rain. _I don't want to talk, I don't want to hear your excuses or listen to you trying to lessen your own blame; I don't even want to __**look**__ at you right now._ He couldn't simply stand there and have a conversation with the one who had wreaked irreparable, unknowable damage upon an angel who'd dragged him out of Hell, to whom he owed so much-

_What the hell are you thinking, man? _The rational part of his mind protested, but standing there in the rain, listening to Sam's footsteps trudging away, Dean knew he couldn't strive to make a dead man proud this time. He wouldn't. Not until the man he knew to be his brother had returned, not until the elder Winchester made sure that Castiel was going to be alright. And if putting an angel over Sam meant breaking his promise to John, so be it.

* * *

_His eyes were glued to the floor as he walked the shiny linoleum floors, down the hallway and once again inhaling the fumes of disinfectant and death. The latter though, didn't just permeate his surroundings but rather clung to his form like an unwanted shadow. The walls lining the corridors down to the Intensive Care Unit were painted a depressing taupe color in contrast to the whitewashed panels of the hospital's other hallways; the only color that stood out against the dull background of the entire setting was the red etched into the whorls of his fingers, into the lines of his palms and carved in so deep underneath his fingernails that no amount of soap and water would be successful in removing it. _

_Sam avoided the eyes of the nurses and doctors walking past him, giving the medical personnel a wide berth, and not wanting to distract them from their duties or draw their attention to the suspicious dark brown markings of dried bloodstains on his clothes. He had yet to encounter Dean although he knew the other had seen him. He didn't blame his brother for not wanting to meet him though; he didn't blame Dean for leaving him to wake up in a dark, dank glass enclosed room, lying in pools of blood that clearly wasn't his. He would've done exactly the same thing. _

_The soles of his worn down leather boots squeaked against the waxed floors as he came to a stop in front of the first door on the left, just as the receptionist had instructed. Sam lifted a hand to grasp the handle, but hesitated. What in the world was he doing here? Did he honestly think that an apology would fix Castiel and make right all the wrong that had been done and erase all the horrors he'd inflicted upon the other? Would the angel even be awake to receive his expression of shame and regret? Slowly, he gripped the doorknob with unsure fingers and slowly began to turn it-_

"_Should you make another move, Samuel Winchester, you would do well to pray for God Almighty to have mercy upon your damnable soul because __**I-will-not**__." _

_It was a voice ringing with all the authority of Heaven; the voice of the deliverer of the Annunciation, of the holy warrior who spoke God's command- but right now, there was nothing but the cold promise of death and the steely threat of all the pain of an archangel's might resounding in the tone. Sam could feel the heat of a thousand suns at his back, two orbs of piercing light boring holes into his spine and slowly, slowly he turned to face the individual standing not more than five feet behind him. _

"_Marie?"_

_The Latina woman was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, chin lowered and mouth set into a thin, tight line as she glared dangerously at him, daring him without words. Dark eyebrow were drawn toward each other in a frown so deep one could have cut it with a knife and piercing eyes shone with a driving force. It was no trick of the light this time; instead of the warm obsidian shade Sam had seen so long ago from the nurse who tried to comfort him when it had been Dean lying in a hospital bed, now there was something ethereal about the way she glowered at him, a glint in her hard gaze that could have obliterated him from the face of this Earth. _

"_Gabriel," Sam breathed in realization as he took a step back, partially in awe but mostly in pure terror. He remembered then in a brief flash of an instant, Marie lifting an arm and suddenly he was airborne, being flung away from Castiel's still form, his skull cracking hard against the wall. "I-"_

"_Do not speak." Pushing off and away from the wall, the archangel moved forward, unbridled power limited within the human capacities of a vessel and somehow contained within the slender frame of a petite young woman. Gabriel's voice was flat, emotionless, but Sam flinched because it was the same tone Dean used when confronting any supernatural force that had dared to harm his pain in the ass little brother- full of inconsolable rage that had been melded into a forced calm that was even more frightening than the violence that always inevitably followed. _

_He'd seen angels teleport before, but witnessing an archangel's power was certainly different than anything that could be conjured up by the imagination of mere mortals. All that suddenly in a whisper of breath, Sam found himself standing toe to toe with the other, with the wall at his back and feeling invisible tongues of flame licking at his being. The younger Winchester's muscles froze, unable to perform the fight or flight response the adrenaline spiraling wildly throughout his system demanded; he held his breath, just waiting for the killing blow._

"_I know what you have done to gain corrupted power; I know of the depravity in your blood." The words hit Sam as hard as any blow and his knees actually shook. Gabriel pinned him with a stare that laid bare his soul, stripping away his defenses and dragging out his darkest secret from his innermost being no matter how hard he tried to resist- _

"_Heaven commands that you are to come to no harm." The words were spoken coolly, with a calm so chilling that it made Sam's flesh crawl. Gabriel's voice dropped an octave lower as the archangel leaned closer; Marie's obsidian eyes shifted colors entire for one, blinding instant- "But dare you touch my brother, nay, dare you lay eyes upon Castiel again, and I __**will**__ lay waste to your soul." _

Sam leaned against the sink counter, once again staring at himself in the glass, at the deep bags under his bloodshot eyes. God, he looked like shit. Stumbling away from the reflective surface, he more or less fell back against the stalls, sliding down into a seated position and trying to curl himself into the smallest position possible. A leaky faucet dripped steadily. This was where he first lost his senses, where he first drank deeper than ever before and even now he could feel the thirst tearing apart his insides like a pack of wolves-

_The angel's eyes were clouded with pain as the claws of the invisible mongrels of hell sunk deep into his mangled chest, shredding it all to nothingness and ripping through the breastbone. A cold laugh rang out through the glass chamber and Sam turned his head to the nearest transparent panel to see that it was coming from him._

_No. _He clenched his fists and shoved them against the concaves of his stomach, pressing his forehead against his knees and trying to banish the mental images from his mind but they kept coming, unbidden and unwanted. Sam's shoulders shook and he tried to stop the shudders wracking his frame; the floor was tilting in and out of focus, vision blurring and suddenly all he could see was the blood against chalky white skin and pained sapphire twin orbs.

"_NO!!"_

_Dean's frantic shout drew his attention to the corner of the room, where the OR's spotlight was illuminating Alastair as the white-eyed demon stood there, digging his hand casually around in Castiel's chest, making the angel jerk in uncontrollable spasms. Sam's eyes widened and he gagged because there was just so much blood, too much blood to believe-_

_He could see the glassiness of the sapphire eye as they grew bright with moisture; they turned upon him and something in Sam's heart clenched tight. By some extraordinary power, Castiel's lips formed shapes and his diaphragm contracted._

"_The Lord forgives you for what you have done, Samuel. As do I."_

_The angel convulsed suddenly, and Sam pulled back in shock, so happening to look down- it wasn't the demon's hand fishing around in Castiel's torso anymore but it was his own, fingers dragging through the thick crimson fluid and a scream of denial, of horror was rising up…_

Faded red stains against his hands still stood out starkly in the glow of the luminescence of the restroom lights and, filled with an irrational desperation Sam scrambled up off of the floor and hurled himself against the counter, wrenching the sink faucet so hard that the water came spewing out in a rush. Shoving his hands under the rush and moving his fingers against the coolness. There was something inside his mind though, probing against his consciousness and pushing hard against the natural mechanism of dissociation and repression; he turned his hand over and bent his fingers inward toward his palm, forming a fist-

It was a strike of lightening straight into his mind and his legs buckled, hearing the echo of Castiel's cry of pain because it was nothing he'd ever heard before, holding no more dignity than the howl of a wounded animal. _I ripped away Castiel's grace. _Sam literally fell to his knees, the realization pounding like a hammer at his temples. _I've killed an angel. _

Hands settled on his shoulders and he jerked around to see Ruby's dark eyes staring at him. Helplessly, he fell to pieces in her arms. Laying his head on the demon's shoulder the younger Winchester cried like a child, shedding tears because his brother hated him, because of all that he had done when blinded by power and because of what he had to do to kill Lilith, because he had no one left except for her.

"Oh, Sammy." Ruby sighed, rubbing a hand over Sam's broad, shaking shoulders. "Come on." They had to leave now, and quickly at that before Heaven's messenger archangel decided to smite both.

* * *

The steady, rhythmic beeping of the many machines was much different from that chorus of angels' voices that praised the Father with tongues of fire and the twenty-four elders who cast down their crowns of gold at the feet of God. Countless tubes fed fragile life to the individual in the hospital bed, paler than the sheets he lay upon and the bandages his broken body was swathed in. One would've expected the bedside curtains to be pulled for privacy's sake, but no one protested the presence of the petite woman standing right next to the unconscious man's still form.

Light brown hands crossed and then re-crossed, an easily identifiable gesture of discomfort; a sign of nervousness that wasn't expressly unique to any particular individual for it was a universal gesture in mankind. Dark brown eyes flickered over the patient's numerous wounds that still bled red through layers upon layers of gauze and the hands re-crossed again. Right thumb over left. Separate. Left thumb over right.

Soft hissing from the oxygen mask was the only sound that filled the room, the whisper of artificial breath from tanks and into nostrils, down into lungs that no longer had the power to expand upon their own accord.

_Gabriel._

The archangel's gaze lifted upwards and away from Castiel, toward where the murmur came and as he listened, Gabriel's features suddenly tightened. His vessel's long, elegant fingers gripped together so firmly that Marie's nails were digging deep grooves into the skin, drawing forth small crescent shapes of blood; eyes that were suddenly large and uncertain strayed back toward the bedridden patient but Gabriel nodded. _Yes. I understand Heaven's command. _A moment passed and the archangel bowed his head, as if such an action could hide the grief twisting his heart. _I shall obey._

A light footstep outside the door brought him out of his internal struggle and a glint of silver appeared in dark brown eyes. Without hesitation, Marie's arm was lifting, her palm was thrusting forward and the door to the room was flying open to lay bare the path for the archangel advancing upon the door down the length of the hallway that was swinging shut, through which Gabriel had just sent an individual careening back through.

Dark red hair seemed to blend in with the dull beige of the stalls in women's bathroom and hazel eyes widened upon seeing the tense figure of the Latina nurse stalking into the lavatory, muscles taut and jaw clenched so tightly it was a wonder her teeth weren't shattering. "I see you're inhabiting another vessel, Gabriel," Anna observed. "Interesting choice."

"Why are you here." It wasn't an inquiry or a polite question; it was a flat statement whose undertones didn't not require an answer, but a course of action that demanded the other's absence.

"I was just on my way to see how our little brother is doing," Anna replied smoothly, getting to her feet. "I heard from here and there that he'd gotten himself into yet another terrible scrape and I thought that checking up on him would be a good idea." She smiled gently with what appeared to be sincerity and concern. "Because you know how much I care for dear Cas."

Both mirrors over the sink cracked like someone had smashed his fist into their surfaces; the automatic sensor faucets broke off from the counter, rocketing up into the air and sending geysers of water shooting forcibly up into the air. The lights flickered, casting shadows upon Anna's milk complexion as she glanced at her surroundings in mock surprise.

"You hate me, don't you Gabriel?" She crossed her arms and leaned casually against the wall of the first stall, tilting her head to the side and giving the fuming archangel a knowing, catty little smirk. "It's such a strong _**feeling**_… isn't it?"

It might have slipped past the attention of the mere mortal eye, but she saw it- the flicker of uneasiness that crossed over Gabriel's features beneath the face of the nurse being possessed, the foreign tumult of what could have been categorized as emotions clashing in the other's usually blank, composed countenance. Anna laughed aloud then, tossing her head back and letting her eyes shut with mirth. _Oh my, my, my. What's God Almighty going to think when word gets back that the archangel who stands at his left hand; his precious, powerful messenger has fallen prey to the sentiments of man? _

"I know what you're thinking," she said slowly, dragging out each syllable with evident mockery. "I heard the command from Heaven too, about what must be done to Castiel- but you can't do it, can you Gabriel?" The redhead stepped forward jauntily, clicking her tongue as if she had just caught a child with one hand in the cookie jar of the dish of forbidden sweets. "And you're wondering why the Father you love would ask you to do such a thing to your dear little brother, am I right?" Anna leaned in close, whispering the next words. "And I felt it, Gabriel; I felt your uncertainty. That strange sensation you feel, gnawing away at your resolve? That's called _doubt_."

"_**No.**_" All the color from Marie's dark eyes vanished for one blinding instant; the brown fled from the irises and pupils vanished as they shone pure silver, the light alone knocking the fallen angel away. Gabriel lifted a hand then, gaze steely as his fingers closing and thrust the fist forward, toward that small, mocking pink smile and the hazel eyes of the traitor, of the blasphemy against the Lord.

Light flooded the small interior of the ladies' washroom and was all that reflected in the starred, fractured mirrors that stood as silent witnesses to the happenings within.

* * *

He had no idea how long he'd been standing there but when the sound of another footstep reached his ears, Dean turned around with a sort of weary resignation, ready to tell Sam to get away because he _still_ wasn't up for talking to his brother yet- only to find Marie standing there.

_Well, Gabriel actually._ The hunter's brow furrowed. He'd gotten so used to seeing the blank face of the archangel-possessed young blonde man, so used to the white suit and gold silk tie. Now, seeing the nurse standing in front of him, dark hair getting plastered to her high cheekbones and finely shaped features by the pounding rain but with the recognizable gaze-

_Hold that thought too._ Dean blinked and wondered if it was the stress of sleepless nights getting to his head because the eyes that stared at him were anything but piercing and resolute; they were downright _miserable_. He'd seen emotion flitting across Castiel's features plenty of times but this was the first instance in which he could state, with confidence, that the archangel Gabriel was expression an emotion, that of anguish. Horrible fear arose and the words burst forth, hurried and urgent. "How's Cas?"

"Fading."

_Fading._ Dean swallowed and tried to find the saliva to speak, clearing his throat and trying to still his pounding heart. "Well, can't you patch him up like you did last time; you know, take him to angel hospital up in the clouds somewhere or something?"

"Castiel now bears unclean blood. He is unable to enter into the Father's halls."

Some internal organ, maybe his liver, socked the elder Winchester's stomach. Hard. "What do you mean, _unclean blood_?"

"Uriel injected him with the blood of a demon in an effort to convert his soul. Castiel's spirit is now too weak to fight against the call of evil."

Dean really didn't like the way Gabriel's eyes were darkening with something eerily akin to sorrow, how the archangel was focusing on something off in the distance, refusing to meet his own probing gaze. His tongue felt thick and clumsy in his own mouth. "Well… Cas is a lot stronger than most of you chuckleheads give him credit for. Being an angel has to mean that you guys have some sort of built-in defense system against that shit. He'll be up acting like a pain in the ass in a couple of days again, right?"

Gabriel turned away, silent. Five seconds passed. Then ten. Twenty. Thirty-

"…what are you going to do?" Dean asked, terrified that he already knew the answer. _Don't say it, don't say those four words; I'm warning you, you son of a bitch: don't say it-_

"What must be done."

Maybe it was the way the archangel said it, the way Gabriel's voice was once again steady and resolute, or the rain that chose at that moment to intensify until it felt like the droplets were bullets falling from the gray clouds. "You're out of your goddamn mind!!" Whatever it was, the fear he felt was transformed into terrible anger, irrational brashness that goaded his hands into grabbing Marie's shoulder and spinning the slender nurse around and fisting his fingers into the front of her shirt. _You can't __**kill**__ Cas!_

"It is an order from above."

"Heaven, Hell, my ass! I don't give a flying _fuck_ where the order comes from!" Dean jerked their faces together so close that he could see his own reflection in Marie's dark brown eyes, but not in Gabriel's gaze that was now closed off. "Does Cas mean so much less to you than some divine command? Oh yeah, hell of a brother _you _are-"

His hands were burning then, the palms red and raw like he'd stuck them in a roaring fire and the hunter let go of the nurse with a hiss of pain, jerking away and lifting his eyes back up to the archangel who stood there, something that wasn't quite fire but wasn't quite ice in his face. "I FOLLOW my Father's orders, Dean Winchester. YOU did not. This is what has become of your inaction." Gabriel was the one bearing down upon him now but Dean's mind was to occupied to recognize fear; it whirling, whirling, because how did the archangel know of John's orders concerning his brother?

"Sam is my _brother_."

"And do you know what he has done to mine?" They were now toe to toe again, eye to eye, hunter and archangel. Dean could see the hurt; _such_ hurt and so much pain. "He has destroyed Castiel's grace."

_What?_ His entire body grew cold with horror and Dean's breath faltered. _No. That can't be true._ "That's impossible. Only demons can do that."

"And what do you think your brother is turning himself into?"

The hunter blinked once but there wasn't lava overflowing in his veins at Gabriel's words; it was something dangerously calm, a feeling that steeled his jaw and sharpened his glare until his eyes became shards of flinty emerald, as he reacted with pure adrenaline. _If you weren't wearing Marie right now I'd stab you in the face, you lying bastard._

Making a move on an archangel wasn't exactly the smartest thing he'd ever done or considered doing. Before his fist came within striking range of Marie's face, a palm was slamming against his forehead, blinding him to the here and the now as visions of the unseen past swam into his mind and unveiled the truth for Dean Winchester about his brother once and for all.

"_It's been weeks, Ruby. I need it." _

"_It's okay, Sammy. You can have it."_

_The flash of a steel blade, the backward folding of skin and Sam was seizing a hold of the demon girl's arm, mouth latching upon the wound and sucking the crimson liquid like a parched man emerging from a desert; the younger Winchester's teeth ripped savagely through the flesh of Ruby's host and drank thirstily. Blood was overflowing from his mouth, staining his teeth and covering the entire lower portion of his face; he looked downright insane, looked like a vampire. Like a monster._

Dean latched back to the present with a more than unpleasant bump, reeling in shock from what he'd seen. _No… Sammy, what the hell have you done to yourself?! And why?_ He knew one thing though as his hand clenched into a fist; he was going to kill that bitch Ruby if it was the last thing he ever did on God's green Earth.

"I suggest you move quickly." He looked up, squinting against the rain at Gabriel. The archangel pinned him with one last unreadable stare before Marie disappeared.

The hunter stood there, feet rooted into the ground and frozen for an instant before his mind kicked into overdrive. _"CAS!" _Dean was racing into the hospital, bypassing the bewildered staff who took in the image of this soaking wet madman dashing into the lobby and hurtling himself up the stairs, two at a time. _Don't do it God, don't do it; don't kill him, don't take Cas away because he's the only one who I know is on my side and has always been-_

Gabriel stood there, gazing at Castiel's form, at the lines of suffering that were still deeply etched into the other's face even in unconsciousness, at the dark bangs sliding across the pale forehead and the pain so clearly displayed on his little brother's features. Grief colored the archangel's face; Marie's light brown hand reached up and slowly, slowly removed the oxygen mask. Outside, lightening struck, it's magnificent tendrils streaking out across the sky as the rain fell harder than ever before.

"_Am I getting too heavy for you Gabriel? You worry too much, brother." A gentle chuckle, the warmth of brilliant sapphire blue eyes-_

Silver orbs closed in anguish. "Forgive me, Castiel." A whisper of brokenness, a plea for understanding. _Forgive me, my brother._ Gabriel pressed his palm gently against the other's forehead; the room filled with impossible brightness-

_Beeeeeeeppppp._

The heart monitor went flat.

_A/N: Yes, that's really the end. Now what kind of a terrible person would I be if I just left things at that? Of course there's going to be a sequel! But I'm going to need some __**major**__ reviews and feedback! Hope you enjoyed this story! _


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